


Night Plague: Short Version

by Omnitrix_12



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Anthropomorphic, F/M, Horror, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnitrix_12/pseuds/Omnitrix_12
Summary: In Victorian Zootopia, Nicholas Wilde went on what seemed a normal business trip abroad to sell an estate. Months later he appeared half-crazed at an abbey in Boarda-pesth. His friend and confidant Judy Hopps rushed to meet him and try to nurse him back to health, but what she discovered was a breed of evil beyond her darkest nightmares. This is their story.





	1. Shattering Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick explanation of a few particulars. This story was originally posted as a part of the "What If?" project by Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps. I have chosen to trim out the parts pertaining to said story line and the P.I.X.A.R. machine because, for personal reasons, I felt more comfortable making this strictly a fantasy A.U. The rest of the story will remain pretty much as posted on Cimar's page, except that I will be expanding here and there on the material, explaining such historical details at the end of each chapter as I can without spoilers, and fixing a few oversights which the "test drive" in Cimar's project brought to my attention.  
> A little background information may be useful here. In this version, Zootopia is analogous to London in the 1800s. If you have read WANMWAD's Sherlock Holmes/Zootopia mashups, you'll have a rough idea of what I'm after. Hopefully, however, my own descriptions will suffice.  
> Also, having been written as part of the What If project, the original draft was WildeHopps. Many readers commended me for that, but looking back on it I decided it wasn't really my style to plunge into the middle of a relationship without developing it first. So I've dialed it back a bit and made theirs a professional connection with hints of potential similar to that in the movie (but without blackmail). In the time period where this is set women generally had limited options, which obviously would cramp Judy's style quite a bit. One career where women could have a significant impact, however, was writing, as exemplified by Harriet Beecher Stowe's classic Uncle Tom's Cabin and its part in sparking the American Civil War. As typewriting would be the means of choice for a writer at the time, I decided Judy would "officially" be Nick's secretary. Ideally I'd rather have her be a rookie cop like in the movie or a retired soldier as per WANMWAD, but that would change this version too much and I wanted this short version to be at least close to the original.  
> I'm working on a longer novel-length version of this story with some substantial changes (all for the better, I hope), but between the demands of life and my other stories it's anyone's guess

Carriage wheels rattled like a Gatling gun as the cab horse raced forward, breath heaving in and out on his errand. Inside, Judy clung to the seat with anxious determination. It was barely an exaggeration to say that she was in deadly earnest.

The summons which brought her had been quick and to the point. Nick, who had been gone for months on a business trip in Roamania had showed up at Saint Ninian's, delirious and half-dead with fatigue. No one knew why, and Nick had barely been lucid enough to tell them his name and show his papers. It was nothing short of a miracle that the nuns had been able to get word to her all the way in London, but they had earnestly begged her to come at once. She had begun packing almost before she was done reading the message.

With a jolt and a swerve, the carriage fairly banged to a halt as though the horse had crashed. Judy hung on for her life, then scrambled to stick her head out. The horse, spurred by the money Judy had promised, panted and leaned on one of the pull bars as he drew out his pocket watch.

"Saint Ninian's Convent, miss," he reported, making his way to the door.

Judy didn't wait. Bursting out of the coach, she threw the money to her driver, shouted her hasty thanks, and with lifted skirts bolted into the red stone building. Nuns of many species, all dressed in black robes and white head cloths, turned to look at her in surprise as she plowed in like a blast of wind from a gale.

"Judy Hopps," she introduced herself, spurning all formality as she fumbled in her purse for the letter. "A fox was brought here; Nicholas Wilde? He's my-!"

"Calm down; calm down, child," urged a badger, striding up and clasping her firmly by the upper arms. "Yes, we have a fox here. He mentioned you."

Judy nearly collapsed. "He's here? Where?!"

"I'll take you to him," the nun promised, "but in Heaven's name, calm yourself."

It took several deep breaths for the bunny to settle her nerves. The nun's advice was sound, but it was all a bunny could do to calm down under such duress, and more than most could have managed. Steadying herself, Judy surrendered to a torturously slow pace as Sister Aria – for so the nun introduced herself – led her through the stone halls of the convent with a halting, shuffling gait.

"Tell me what happened," Judy pleaded, hoping for something to take her mind off how long it was taking her to reach Nick. Though she had initially taken to working for him for want of options, they had been together for several years now and developed an uncommon degree of camaraderie. When she'd heard he was in trouble, she'd rushed from Zootopia as fast as she could and was hardly sure if she had slept the whole way.

"You know already what Sister Agatha wrote," Aria began, "so there is little else to explain. He came by rails from Clawsenburg, as you have read, where he ran into the station yelling his head off for a ticket home. When they learned he was English, they ticketed him for the furthest train in your direction. By the time he reached Boarda-pesth, he was nearly half dead with some kind of brain fever, so they sent him here to recover at our sanatorium."

"But why?" wondered Judy. Nick was the last mammal she would have imagined coming down with any kind of mental illness. The telegraph's words – 'nearly dead' and 'nerves broken' – had so contrasted with the calm, confident fox who left England some months before that she hardly believed them.

Sister Aria shook her head. "I don't know. We took him in and gave him the best care we could manage, but it seems it's not his health that's so much damaged as his spirit. Something shook the poor fox to his very core, and not a nun or monk or abbot who's been to see him can understand it. We're hoping that seeing you will help, or at least that you might know him well enough to help us find out what happened."

Judy bit her lip. Nick wasn't the toughest mammal around, but he was strong. If he was even half as badly off as the letter described, she was sure she didn't know what could have done it. Still, if there was a way to pull him through it, she'd do it if she had to sell her soul. "I'll do everything I can," she promised.

Sister Aria came to a stop outside a plain wooden door, turning to Judy. "You have a good heart. I pray it will be enough, or that God will supply whatever it may lack. Now, let's get you in to see him."

She opened the door, and Judy stepped into the room silently. There on the bed, sleeping in a strange position, lay Nick. The bunny's heart felt jabbed at the sight of him there, his limbs twisted around while his chest rose and fell.

"Why are his arms and legs like that?" she asked, crossing towards the bed. She'd only seen him asleep once or twice when she caught him napping at his desk, and this contorted arrangement was nothing like that.

"None of us knows," Aria confessed. "He also has terrible nightmares, but when he wakes up he can never remember them. He only has some sense of impending terror like King Nebuchadnezzar. We can't make sense of those, but the strange contortions… well, I don't want to get you anxious, but it seems like spiritual torment; worst I ever saw."

Judy didn't know how much stock she placed in the nunnery's religious ideas. She thought, at any rate, that the crosses scattered around were a little idolatrous. Still, if the nuns were helping Nick she supposed she should forgive them that and pray that God, if He objected, would overlook too. For her own part, she went up to Nick and stood beside him. As she watched, he rolled to the side away from her and his legs kicked rapidly as if he were running. An inarticulate sound came from his mouth, as if he were trying to form words but kept getting the syllables wrong.

Sensing that he was having a nightmare, she put both her paws on his shoulder and shook him. "Nick! Nick, wake up!"

"Dwah!" he yelped, jolting awake and throwing himself away from her. The caused him to tumble onto the floor, where Sister Aria rushed to his aid.

"Here, here, it's alright," she soothed, catching his flailing paws and pulling him up. "Judith is here to see you."

"Judith?" he asked, fumbling with the name. He clearly wasn't fully awake. Then, as if drawn by some magnetism, he turned and caught sight of her. "Judy!"

He rushed towards her, falling across the bed in the process. She caught him as he wrapped his arms around her, gasping as if he'd been underwater.

Judy wanted to cry, relieved as she was that she'd finally reached him after such sickening dread for his health. "I'm here, Nick," she said.

Sister Aria stood by, paws clasped with relief. "I don't suppose you remember what the nightmare was," she ventured.

He looked at her for a moment. "No," he said, and then returned his attention to his friend. "Judy, what in the world are you doing here?"

She laughed a little in spite of herself. "That's what I wanted to ask you," she pointed out.

The badger cleared her throat. "If you'll pardon my saying so," she ventured pointedly, "I think perhaps Mr. Wilde would like a few minutes to wash himself and dress, and then you two can have something to eat out in the orchard."

It occurred to Judy then that Nick was still in his nightshirt, and while it was hardly improper for her to be there, it was a little out of the ordinary. "Oh, yes," she agreed rather haltingly.

* * *

About twenty minutes found them where the badger had suggested. Judy was having a plate of eggplant heavily anointed with thick mushroom gravy, and Nick was snacking on a stew of boiled grubs. Between them sat a plate of biscuits with which to sop.

"So you don't remember what happened?" asked Judy.

He shook his head, passing a paw over his brow. "Like someone wiped it right off the slate, Carrots," he admitted. "At least… well, nothing but snatches after I got to my client, and that's all like something out of a dream."

She bit her lip. "You mean like the dreams you've been having since you got here?"

He nodded. "Exactly. I still can't figure out if I caught some kind of sickness or what." His paw strayed up to his neck, rubbing uneasily. Then he leaned in toward her and whispered, "And to be honest, I don't know if this place is helping much. It feels too… something."

"Something?" asked Judy, scrunching her face and looking around. The orchard was bright and cheery, the air just cool enough to be pleasant, and the nuns going this way and that all smiled to see their patient up and around. "Seems like a pretty nice place to me."

"It's nice, don't get me wrong. I just feel… out of place somehow."

Judy considered that for a while. She and Nick were both members of the Reform Church, and though he wasn't exactly the most devout mammal religion had never made him feel uneasy that she knew of. At the very least, he'd never complained of it, and she would hope that he'd say something to _her_ if that was bothering him. Neither, she suspected, would it bother him being around a bunch of Cat-olic nuns. In his line of business he often had to deal with mammals from all walks of life and even all countries. Neither did the nuns seem to think any less of their visitors for belonging to a different denomination, if they even knew it.

He must have read her, as he often did. "I don't know what it is," he admitted.

"Could it have something to do with your business trip?" she asked.

The answer came with another helpless shrug. "I have no idea. I barely remember the business trip." Then he sighed. "To be honest, I just want to get home and put whatever it was behind me."

This didn't satisfy Judy at all, but if it was what he wanted, she was fine with that. "No problem," she assured him. "I brought enough money to get us both back to Zootopia."

He let out a sound that was half cough, half laugh. "A reynard and a doe traveling together? My my, aren't you the New Woman."

She shook her head. "We can take separate trains, you know," she pointed out. They had, it was true, traveled together once or twice – he on business, she seeking ideas for her novel – but never over such a distance. She was on the whole the more reserved of the two of them, whereas Nick was more of the, 'I know what I've done and no one can change that' point of view.

Nick chuckled a little. "Still stubborn, huh?"

"Nick, the day I stop being stubborn you'll start to find me boring."

"True," he admitted, picking up a biscuit to dip in his broth. "It does have a certain charm to it."

* * *

Over the next several days, Judy stayed at the convent, sleeping in one of the extra rooms provided for visitors and newcomers. She was satisfied to see that Nick was tended to at all hours. He had his privacy, but there was always someone awake and in earshot if he should so much as cry out in his sleep.

Sister Aria observed, with evident pleasure, that Judy's presence seemed to be of help to their patient's recovery. Their picnics in the orchard became a regular occurrence as often as the weather would permit it, and during them he began to recall odd snatches. One of these was triggered, he would later say, by the sight of nuns crossing themselves in prayer.

"Early in my trip," he said, "I remember… getting into a carriage with a lot of mammals watching."

"You?" she asked, pausing over some vegetable stew. "In the middle of a staring crowd?" Nick was nothing if no unobtrusive.

He nodded. "Yeah, there was something weird about the whole thing. Everyone kept crossing themselves and then pointing two fingers at me."

That made no sense to Judy, so she asked a nun about it later without mentioning that it had been in Nick's memories.

"Ah, that's a sign," said the nun, shaking her head. "A protection, you might say, against the Evil Eye. Who did you see doing that, and where was it?"

Judy fudged an answer, wondering why someone would do that towards Nick. She knew some mammals claimed that foxes were made by the devil, and she supposed that belief might persist in Roamania since Nick had spoken of the Catpathians being a kind of whirlpool of religions from all across the world. Something in her gut, though, told her there was more going on.

Her unease began to seem better founded as, over the course of a week, other memories came back. Blue flames by a roadside, running up and down halls to escape from something or someplace, and a woman – a deer, he was pretty sure – pressing something into his paws with great earnest. All of these confused him, and the hall one absolutely unnerved him, but the one that seemed to bother him most was something about a tiger.

"He's built like a tiger," he explained one afternoon when they were quite buy themselves, "but he's black all over."

Judy scrunched her face. "That's strange. Tigers don't come in that color. It must have been a jaguar or something."

"I know, but I remember a black tiger… or maybe it was a dream. I don't know." Nick's ears were back, his tail was bunched out, and his eyes had a strangely hollow look to them. "Seems like the last thing I can remember – the only thing I can remember – after these nightmares is that black tiger looking me in the eyes."

Judy didn't know what to make of the whole thing, but the way he told it set her fur on end.

Nick shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this," he said shakily. "I'd rather not even think about it. What's been going on back in Zootopia?"

It was hard to think of anything that would interest him. For Judy, a lot of the time had been spent simply worrying about whether he was alright and why she hadn't heard from him. "Well, there was the shipwreck," she recalled.

"Shipwreck?" Nick's ears pricked up. "That sounds interesting."

She nodded. "It wasn't long before I came out here to get you. This crazy storm just popped up with hardly any warning, and then boom! This ship came out of nowhere and ran itself up on the beach. There was a bear tied to…" Suddenly she stopped, thinking that _maybe_ it wouldn't be best to talk about that part.

Alas, she held her peace in vain. "Bear tied to what?" asked Nick.

Judy bit her lip. "The bear was the captain; the only mammal left aboard. He tied himself to the wheel, and then… he died."

Nick sighed. "Wow, that's… that's awful." He was strangely afraid to ask the next question that came to mind. "Any idea what happened to him?"

With drooping ears, she admitted she wasn't sure. "The newspapers said that the last few days of the logbook talked all about missing sailors and something on board. Apparently the captain was finally the only one left, so he tied himself to the wheel. Guess he thought he had to go down with the ship."

A strange shudder passed through Nick when Judy talked about there being some _thing_ on the ship. "Did they ever find out what was going on?" he asked.

Judy could do nothing but shrug. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'm guessing it was some kind of disease on board that made everyone crazy. I was pretty busy with Lucy."

"Hmm, that would keep you tied up," he admitted. Orphaned at an early age, Judy had been taken in and raised by a kindly pair of red deer with the name Westenrut. Though she had diligently held onto her original surname through the adoption, she had none the less become very fond of the family that thus chose her. In particular, she had become the bosom companion of their sole progeny, a sweet doe named Lucy. It had been a fortunate friendship for them both, since Lucy had regrettably inherited her father's sickly constitution and needed a companion who could stay by her to pluck up her spirits. Mr. Westenrut had some time back returned to the clay from whence he came, and hardy little Judy had stuck around to keep an eye on Lucy and her aging mother. She even shared a room with Lucy, since neither of them felt like parting company until marriage should draw them away. Indeed, Judy might not have agreed to leave even for Nick's sake if a young doctor – an oryx named Doctor Seward – had not become a close friend of the family and agreed to watch over them.

Of course, Nick's knowledge of this fact raised a significant question. "How is Lucy?" he asked.

Her answer came with a sigh. "She's been…" She hesitated to explain the whole thing. One or two of Lucy's escapades had a terrible prospect of humiliation if they got around, and it wasn't as if the doe could help it. On the other paw, Nick was her closest friend with the possible exception of Lucy, and she knew he would never tell anyone. "She's been sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking?" asked Nick, blinking a little. "I didn't know she did that."

Judy shrugged. "It comes and goes. She used to do it when she was younger, and for the past couple of months she's been lapsing back into it. One night she went all the way out to the old churchyard, to the seat overlooking the sea cliff."

Nick winced. A young woman in her nightdress that far from home _would_ risk humiliation. "No one saw, did they?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just her and me, but it got to the point where I had to sleep with the key to the room tied on my wrist. She seems to be doing better, though. She slept just fine for about a week before I got the letter about you. Oh, and she's engaged too."

"Really?" Nick's ears pricked up. The pleasant news piqued his interest. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Arthur Honewood. Get this: he was the third man to propose to her, all in one day!" Judy's face crinkled with mirth.

He laughed. "I'm not surprised. She's a pretty one."

"Hey!" She scowled playfully, crinkling her nose and putting back her ears.

Nick smiled and slid a paw towards her. "Aw, come on. You know I only go after unattached females."

"You'd better not," she warned with mock severity. Then she remembered something. "Oh, I got a letter from Mother today, actually. I wanted to read it with you around in case it mentioned you."

"Uh-huh. In other words, in case she mentions my rugged good looks?" he asked with smug vanity.

She elbowed him and drew the letter from her purse, proceeding to read aloud.

_"Dearest Judy,_

_"I pray that all is well with you and dear Nicholas. I was glad to learn that you arrived safe and well at the abbey. I hope you two are conducting yourselves so as not to bring shame on the worthy sisters there."_ At this note, Judy cast a glance at Nick, who only smirked. The fox had been playfully dubbed a bad seed by the old doe, and more than once his uncouth ways had raised warnings of scandal if he should go too far. Come to think of it, so had Judy's now and then.

The next words, however, subdued their exchange. When Judy trailed off and her ears drooped, Nick craned his neck to see the letter. It took him a moment to find what had so unsettled the bunny.

_Lucy is elated over her marriage, but I worry for her. She's grown weaker since you left, and that fine gentleman Doctor Seward cannot find what's wrong with her. He has sent word to his old mentor, a professor from Germany, who I am told is a man without equal. I must stay calm about all this, for if anything should become of me who knows what it might do to her? You know that you and she are all I have left now that's worth anything._

Nick leaned his ears back. "What's she mean about something becoming of her?" he asked.

She bit her lip before answering. "Mother didn't want Lucy to know, but… her heart's weak, and she's gotten her last notice. She's got maybe two months to live, and any bad shock will… will kill her instantly."

Nick cringed. "Ouch. No wonder she's keeping it hush-hush." He paused anxiously. "How are you taking it?"

"I've known for a while," Judy admitted, wiping her face. "I guess I always knew she wouldn't live to turn gray, but it's… well, it's hard to believe it's happening."

He laid a paw on hers. "I'm sorry." A long pause preceded his next bit of advice. "Listen, I'll be fine here. You go back home and take care of Lucy and your mother."

She hung suspended between loyalties for a long moment before answering. "No. I'm not leaving you behind like this. You're well enough to travel. I'll get us tickets and we'll be back to Zootopia in a few days."

Nick raised an eyebrow. _"You're_ suggesting we travel together?" he asked doubtfully.

Snorting, Judy slapped him on the arm. "Don't push it, _sir._ This is bigger than propriety and you know it."

She was right about it being bigger than propriety. Alas, she had no idea just how serious it would be.


	2. Blood Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On returning home, Judy tries to help nurse Lucy back to help. But what exactly is wrong with her, and can she and the doctors figure it out in time?

On her trip to Boarda-pesth, Judy had been so preoccupied with worry over Nick that nearly all worries had crowded out of her mind. Now that he was well – or as well as might be asked – she was in an agony of worry and guilt over the Westenruts.

"What could have happened to make her sick again?" she asked, wringing her paws as she gazed out the window. The train was moving at a fine speed, but to her anxious eyes the landscape seemed to crawl past like a sloth in bleak December.

Nick made a show of thinking. "Hmm. Sickly deer in a cold, damp climate, long history of bad health… wow. We might have to call Sherlock Howles for this."

There was a loud slap as Judy's right paw connected with his arm.

"Ow," he protested. He'd forgotten how tough Judy could be when she got riled. Rubbing the sore spot, he lowered his ears. "Well, I guess I earned that."

She scowled at him bitterly before returning her gaze to the landscape.

"Carrots, I'm sorry," he offered meekly. "I didn't mean… I shouldn't have said that."

Despite her drooping ears, Judy resolutely kept herself from crying. She wouldn't spring a tear; she wouldn't.

Nick laid a paw on her head. "It's not your fault," he added gently. "Lucy was fine when you left, and by the sound of it she's in good hands. You couldn't have done more anyway – and who else would have come to help me out?"

She pushed his paw away, but he could detect her gaze slowly drifting in his direction. She was opening up; slowly, but progress was progress.

"Listen, I know you well enough to know you didn't leave any loose ends untied. Whatever's going on with Lucy, it's not your fault."

A small measure of comfort drifted into her expression, but then she turned away again. "It's not just about leaving her and Mother behind," she said softly. "Nick, I have this feeling that something bad is going to happen. I don't know what, but something's just not right – like when I got the news about you."

Nick flinched at that. "Was she having nightmares too?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, nothing unusual like you." Thinking it over further, she added, "Of course _you_ never had a problem with nightmares either before this trip."

"Hmm," mused the fox. "So you've got a bad feeling about what's going to happen, you don't know what it is, and it's like what you felt before you came to get me?"

She nodded.

"Well, then I'd say you've got nothing to worry about," he answered quickly. In answer to her confused expression, he added, "Here's the thing. You heard I was sick, you came running with a bad feeling in your gut, and now I'm the picture of health. Now Lucy's sick, and you're running to _her_ with a bad feeling in your gut..."

To her surprise, Judy actually laughed a little at that. "How do you do that?" she asked.

He gazed at her blankly. "Do what?"

Take anything bad and turn it into a… a selling point."

Nick couldn't resist a smirk. "Well, I happened to learn that from being around a certain Miss Cottontail."

"That's Hopps," she argued, pointing a mock-stern finger at his face. Though she had been raised as a Westenrut, she had taken her adoptive mother's advice not to let go of her Christened name. "You know I don't like the name Cottontail."

The fox's smile remained unabated. It was clear enough that his plan was working, so he added, "Besides, you'll be there soon enough, and I've never known a disease that would stick around when you came along."

She huffed at the excessive flattery and bumped him with her shoulders, but it was some comfort. She was no college-trained physician, but she had some knowledge of medicine and had helped care for Lucy – and later Mrs. Westenrut too – many times. As long as she could convince the doctors to let her help, she could do some good, and she could usually convince mammals to at least give her a chance. Someone had once joked that where the good Lord carried a sword in His mouth, she carried a pair of light and quick daggers; a silver one for persuasion and charm, and a steel one for when someone just needed a good cutting down. Already her mind was thinking of points on which to lever her way past even the most stubborn caregiver, as she'd done on a few occasions past.

She was interrupted in this when Nick reached into his bag and pulled out a small package tied up with cord. "By the way, there's something I've been meaning to give you. I kept forgetting about it until now."

Judy took the bundle and started to open it, but he stopped her.

"This is, uh… well, it's my journal from the trip; the trip I don't remember."

She was confused. "Then why don't you read it?" she asked.

He looked pretty serious. "I tried, and you know I'm no chicken, but it, uh…" His ears drifted back. "It shook me up. Truth is I'd like to get rid of it, but I can't bring myself to destroy it or throw it away."

Judy stared at him, then at the wrapped package. An uneasy prickling began to go up her spine, as if it were a box full of deadly spiders or centipedes rather than a book. She pushed it away. This book might have some clue to what had so upset Nick.

"No no no, don't open it," he cut her off as she started again to unwrap the bundle.

She stared at him in confusion. "Nick, what's going on here?"

He sighed. "I don't want to keep the book. I'd rather just forget the whole trip once and for all, but… I don't know. Every time I try to throw it away, something stops me. So I thought if I gave it to… oh, listen to me." His voice sank into self-reproach and he took the bundle back in haste. "I'll throw it right out the window and-"

"No," Judy cut him off, jumping for his paw. She brought it back down with her, package and all. "Nick, we don't know that you're all past it yet. What if you have a relapse or something? This could be our only clue of how to help you."

"I'm sure getting rid of it would help me," he argued, but irresolutely.

Thinking still further, Judy decided to meet him halfway. "Then how about this: I'll hold onto it to get your mind off it, _but_ I promise not to open it unless it's absolutely necessary for your own good. Sound fair?"

He considered the idea and nodded. "Not getting any better offers," he allowed, releasing it to her care.

She at once busied herself tucking it into some of her luggage.

"And Carrots? Thanks. I owe you one."

"One more," she corrected.

He laughed a little at that. "Listen," he suggested, "why don't you go to your car and get some rest? You've fussed and paced so much that I'm getting tired just watching it."

Judy rubbed one eye and nodded. "Maybe I will," she relented. "See you later… and thank you. I needed that."

Nick smiled as long as she was in sight, but as she disappeared into the next car his smile faded. He strongly suspected that Judy was acting more hopeful than she felt for his sake. She was optimistic and he supposed even a little naive at times (but then he had more years and trials under his belt), but she wasn't a fool. She knew when a situation was grim, and this one most assuredly was.

He thought back over the letter, and a rather curious omission. From what he knew of Mrs. Westenrut, she would probably have said what the illness was if she knew. Yet she had included no such detail. That probably meant that Doctor Seward, of whom Nick knew enough to take him for an honest and decent mammal, was withholding that knowledge for the sake of the old widow's heart. That would mean that the disease was a bad one with little if any hope.

_I just hope his friend can do something he can't,_ he thought.

The remainder of the trip passed well enough, and as soon as could be managed Judy was on her way up the cobblestone path to her home of some twenty-odd years. It was a large and stately house, enough to belie the small family living therein. The Westenruts had once been a very large and prosperous family, but somewhere back the estate and line had fallen from the hooves of a hardy and strong brother to a much runtier one when the former died in a war. None of the heirs after that had been particularly healthy or long-lived, and with the health of its lord, the fortune had also seemed to diminish. They were still well-to-do, but hardly as wealthy or many as their ancestors. Now, atop that sad history, there was the paradoxical matter of Lucy's predicament: soon to be wed herself, but ill enough that she might not see her own nuptials. It reminded Judy of a line from a play she and Nicholas had gone to see once: "Fair is foul and foul is fair."

With such an unaccustomed burden on her mind, it was little wonder that the doe was a bit distracted as she let herself and Nicholas in. She was thus unprepared when a strange voice suddenly uttered, "Oh! I didn't realize we were expecting a guest."

Jumping slightly, Judy turned to see a quite unfamiliar wolf, gray with curious black marks on his tufted cheeks. His rather wrinkled face and thin limbs betrayed a venerable age, but by the brightness of his eyes and the erectness of his posture he seemed quite healthy for all that.

The stranger blinked apologetically, rising to give a cordial bow. "Ah, madam, forgive me for startling you." He had a crisp and pronounced accent, and spoke in a very formal tone. "You are friends of the family, I assume."

She shook her head. "Family, actually. I'm Judy Hopps, and this is-"

At the mention of her name, the wolf's eyes lit up and he knelt to clasp her paw eagerly. "Ah! Then you are the Judy dear Miss Lucy speaks of so much. You _are_ good to come."

Lucy's name made Judy's heart lurch upward just a little. "Yes, that's me – and this is my friend Nicholas Wilde."

"Charmed," Nick said, dipping his head in a polite nod.

"A pleasure," answered the doctor, shaking his paw.

Judy wasted little time in getting to the business at paw. "Is Lucy alright?"

The wolf frowned anxiously. "As well as medicine can make her, I assure you. She hasn't left the house these past two weeks… but I forget my manners. I am Professor Van Savage, a friend of Doctor Seward, whom you may know."

Judy nodded uncertainly. "Lucy mentioned Doctor Seward in her letters, but she didn't mention your name."

"I suppose she wouldn't. I am recently arrived myself. Doctor Seward was a student of mine, and asked me to come aid as I can in poor Lucy's treatment."

Judy's heart sank as this explanation recalled to her mind her worries from the train. "Is she that ill?"

Van Savage folded his paws. "I don't wish to alarm you, Miss Judy. She _has_ improved, but it has been very difficult going. Her illness is…" Here an odd look crossed his face.

"What is it?" demanded Judy in earnest. "If she's mentioned me, then you know you can tell me anything – and Nick's as trustworthy as I am."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," he confessed, raising his paws apologetically. "It is no worry of discretion, or of your ability to handle the facts of the case. It is only that her illness is most… well, singular, if I may say so. I have been called one of the foremost physicians of this time, and though I think that is undue praise I must say that I think her disease is… to be honest, unidentified; unknown to science."

_That_ didn't sound good. "How bad is it?" asked Nick.

"Well, as I said before she has improved these last few days, but her condition must be watched closely if she is to be made well." Seeing the growing anxiety on Judy's face, he softened. "However, I do not think she is contagious. Perhaps you should come and see her yourself before I explain further. Friend Nicholas, do excuse us, please."

There wasn't a thing Judy wanted more in the world, so at a word she was led up to Lucy's room.

"You're going in too?" she asked uneasily when the doctor put his paw on the handle to Lucy's bedroom door.

"It is necessary," said he. "I was only taking a short break when you and Friend Nicholas arrived, but she must be looked in on regularly and watched with great care."

Seeing that this troubled Judy – as indeed he should have worried if it didn't – he smiled the best that he could. It was a very solemn smile. "I do hope your visit will do her some good, seeing that you are sisters. I am told you are a capable helper to physicians, and perhaps with you here we can tend her with better propriety. I must warn you, however, that her state of health may frighten you. You must not act alarmed or greatly upset. Such a thing can only do her harm, I think."

Judy nodded, taking a deep breath. "Stay calm. Got it."

He smiled and turned the handle. Opening the door only a little, he called in, "Miss Lucy, a friend has come to visit."

"Send her in," came a voice from inside.

Judy flinched at the voice. Lucy sounded worse than she'd ever heard her or anyone else. Her voice was like the voice of an old woman.

Van Savage pushed the door ajar and bowed in sign for her to enter, which she did.

It was well that he had warned her not to act too alarmed, for Lucy was indeed in a frightful state. Her slender neck and well-formed face now seemed pale and withered like a dried plant as she sat up in bed. The strong, peculiar odor which filled the room did little to help. Yet the smile was the same as ever.

"Judy!" she exclaimed, and then trembled a little as if the effort of simply lifting her voice in joy had exhausted her. She quickly lay back down and huddled under the blankets. "Please come in. I'm so glad you made it back."

Judy came in slowly and solemnly. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"She is as well cared for as Doctor Seward and I can contrive," promised Van Savage.

Lucy sighed. "Come sit on the bed, please," she urged. "I've missed you. Is Nicholas well?"

Judy hardly had a mind to talk about anything so casual. Yet she knew that it would be best to do so for Lucy's sake. So she hopped up onto the bed and sat, as she and the larger doe had done many times when they were younger.

"Nick's doing about as well as can be expected," she replied. "It's so strange. He went on that business trip, and now he hardly remembers any of it."

Unnoticed by the two females, Van Savage's ears pricked up and his eyebrows lifted with interest.

"Hardly anything?" asked Lucy curiously. "How strange. Did something happen to him?"

"Something must have," Judy admitted, "but he doesn't know what. He won't even look back at his journal about it, and he made _me_ promise not to look into it unless I had to." She had a feeling that this would not do any good for Lucy, so she went on, "You already know he turned up in an abbey on Boarda-pesth, though, which is why I left."

Lucy's eyes widened with interest. "So you still don't know what happened?" she asked.

Judy shook her head. "No. At least he's back here now, and safe. He's downstairs, actually."

"Oh, good," said Lucy happily.

Just then a knock came at the chamber door. "Miss Westenrut," came the voice of one of the maids. "Arthur's come to visit."

"Arthur!" cried Lucy, sitting up. Before Judy or Van Savage could do anything, she was pretty nearly out of bed. "I'd better get dressed. Doctor, would you-?"

Before their horrified eyes she grew whiter still; white as salt to her very lips. She swayed like a tree in the wind and started to fall.

"Lucy!" cried Judy, rushing forward.

With startling speed and adroitness for his age, Van Savage stepped up and caught Lucy against his chest, throwing his arms around her lest she crumple to the floor. "Here, here, lie down," he urged, leaning her back towards the mattress. Judy was close behind, hopping up to assist him. Between the two of them they managed to get her back into her place on the bed, but she was terribly limp and trembled worse than Judy had ever seen.

"What's happening?" demanded Judy. She had never seen such a rapid change. In mere seconds Lucy had gone from looking and acting very nearly her old self to seeming scarcely healthier than a corpse.

"Shh, shh," hissed Van Savage. "She needs rest and medicine. I shall give her both now." Moving to a bag tucked against the wall, he drew out a bottle and poured a small glass of some liquid from it. This he gave to Lucy, who drank it off like the most placid of children. By the time he and Judy had put all in order, their patient was sound asleep.

"There now. We have done what can be done for the present. That sleeping draught will calm her down and restore a little of her strength, and she needs all she can spare at present." Then, answering Judy's unspoken question, he added, "She will wake in a few hours and want company, but until then we can speak."

Judy's nose fairly buzzed with anxiety. "What kind of disease does she _have?"_ she pressed. "I know you think it's unidentified, but can you at least give some… I don't know, close guess?"

Van Savage sighed. "I don't _think_ it's unidentified; I am _certain_ it's in no medical record," he said wearily. "She's been going through a staggering amount of blood, but she has no uncontrolled bleeding or any symptom of other illness which might cause it. Most unsettling."

"Blood?" asked Judy, flinching from surprise and worry.

He nodded gravely. "I don't want to frighten you, Miss Judy. It's not a thing for a-"

Before he could say any word relating to her sex, her paw was on his arm with a clamp like iron pincers. "Tell me," she insisted. Then, softening her grip and her demeanor a fraction, she added, "Please."

He sighed. "Alright. When I first came to see her, I saw at once that she was very weak and pale. I did what I could to safeguard her condition; gave her all the fluids she would take and so forth. Yet she continued to worsen. She was getting much low on blood, so I arranged a transfusion from her fiance. Since then she has had four transfusions from four different donors counting the first. After Arthur came Doctor Seward, myself, and even a stout young buck named Quincy."

Judy was stunned. "Quincy?" she asked. Quincy was rather an old friend of the family, and had been an army scout in Amareca. He was hardy, but how he could spare enough blood for a deer was unimaginable.

"There was no one else at paw. We cannot bring just anyone in to give her blood, lest it frighten Mrs. … ah, you have caught my meaning."

That was certainly true. Old Mrs. Westenrut didn't want Lucy to know it, but she had received her death notice. Her heart was failing, and it was ten to one she would not last three months. A sudden fright or any other added strain would kill her in an instant. In retrospect, Judy felt sorry that she had been angry with the professor a moment ago. If he had gone to such lengths, he deserved her respect – and her help.

"Take mine," she offered, rolling up a sleeve. She'd never given a transfusion before, but she knew how the process was done.

"Not for my life," he answered. "She needs more than you can give; I'm not even certain Quincy's blood did any good."

Disappointed, Judy restored her sleeve to its former place. Still, she was not one to sit by and leave a problem untouched, especially one this serious. "So we need some way to bring in someone who can give her a transfusion without upsetting Mother," she mused. A moment later, she snapped her fingers. "I've got an idea. If Mother's expecting someone for some other reason, we just need her out of the room, right?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She leaned in and whispered her plan, lest any of the maids should overhear and unwittingly let slip the scheme. Van Savage's face lightened a great deal as he listened.

"Ah, you are as clever as she said," he commended. "Yes, I think your plan will do excellently. Shall I leave the arrangements to you, then?"

Judy nodded. "Count on me. Just have your part ready, and I'll take care of the rest." Then she paused, remembering something which had eluded her immediate attention while she was tending to Lucy. "By the way, why the garlic blossoms?"

A mysterious look crossed the professor's face. "God has given us every green herb for its use," he replied evasively, "and there are some that have very many. I theorized early that the garlic would aid her recovery, and it seems to help. I cannot tell all now, but I must tell you as I have told all others: do not move the garlic; not on your life."

True to her promise, in not more than a week Judy had executed her plan. At half past two, a large gray horse came to the house wearing a long white coat and a black scarf looped loosely about his neck and hanging down to his knees. He carried a large book, and a small bird perched on one of his shoulders. Mrs. Westenrut greeted him joyfully at the door, though he had to stoop to make it through the opening.

Within the house, all was in the most perfect order. White linen draped all furnishings, and vases of flowers lined the way like attendants for the priest and other selected persons to be present at the blessed occasion.

The sitting room had been made available for the occasion, with all being re-arranged to as closely resemble a small chapel as possible. Gifts for the bride were prominently displayed; fine silver or china, various things needful for making a home, and boxes or jars of hoof ointment and perfume. Each gift was marked with the name of whoever had given it, and Judy had tastefully arranged them to show those brought by the guests who were there to their best advantage.

Of the present guests there were not many. Although the house could have held more than a dozen mammals in comfort, the physicians had pressed that the ceremony be of simple nature and a larger party be held later to amend for it. Accordingly, the guests comprised of Judy heading up the house maids turned bridesmaids, Nick and the doctors as ushers, and Quincy as the best man. One of the maids, conveniently, needed no place in the seats as she was to sit at the piano in place of an organist. At the front, a seat had been placed for the bride where she was to be joined to her husband. It was, on the whole, the least orthodox wedding arrangement the Westenrut family had ever had or would have, but everyone was in cheerful spirits.

Of course, much attention was given to Arthur, who was immaculately dressed. The red deer wore an immaculate black suit, the cloth of which was tailored and brushed to its absolute best. Everyone seemed lining up for a chance to shake his hoof and congratulate him on his good fortune, wish him the best with his bride, and offer words of encouragement and advice.

Judy came into the room and glanced across at Nick. Like the other gentlemen, he wore a small cluster of the white wild roses on his shoulder, tied with white ribbon and trimmed with silver leaves and lace. The bridesmaids also wore favors, made by Lucy and each one augmented with some little trinket, as all the maids had grown up in the house and been childhood playmates of their future mistress. Judy's favor bore a pair of links from a silver chain; an old memento from when she was adopted. Lucy had found the bit of chain from a broken necklace, and insisted that they keep it as a symbol that, though broken from all else, they would always be sisters.

Nick caught sight of her and clapped his paws together for attention. "Ladies, gentlemammals, I think it's time. Everyone to your places!"

Mammals rushed to their seats. Lord Goredalming rushed to the designated spot in the room, right by a window where the sunlight shone in.

As the piano began to play, Doctor Seward brought Lucy in leaning on his shoulder. It was a bittersweet sight, for all could see that she would surely topple to the floor if not for his support. For those who knew that he had himself asked her to marry him, it bore moreover an air of rather sad irony. Yet for all that, Lucy looked quite nearly as beautiful as she ever had in her life. She wore a ruffled silk dress bedecked with lace, with a wreathe of tiny white rose blossoms on her head like a diadem over the gauzy veil. Even in her weak and sickly state, the dress brought out her sweetness and echoed her snowy soul. Moreover, Judy and the maids had been busy about her with all the best cosmetics they could find, putting a veneer of color back on her pallid face.

The priest, who had not yet seen Lucy, glanced as discreetly as might be done toward Van Savage and Lord Goredalming. The groom seemed to swallow a little, pained as he was to exert his bride so just to get some life's blood back in her veins; truly, cruelty in the name of kindness if ever there was such a thing. Van Savage gave a tiny but decisive nod and looked meaningfully at the stallion, flicking his eyes toward Mrs. Westenrut to remind him of the need for secrecy. The priest, recalling the gravity of things, resumed his passively happy demeanor.

Mrs. Westenrut, as planned, knew nothing of the planned transfusion. Judy had arranged everything by persuading her – ostensibly at the professor's suggestion – that it would be good for Lucy if Arthur might come and see her at any time he chose and stay as long as he liked, and with minimal exertions on her part. Of course, there was only one way to do so without raising a scandal, and that was naturally that they be quietly, privately joined as man and wife. She had added, of course, that Lucy would only know of the part of this which was for her health. She would in no wise be told just yet that her mother might not live to see a later ceremony. Mrs. Westenrut had wholeheartedly embraced the plan, not suspecting that she herself was meeting with a bit of kindly disinformation. Van Savage had confessed that he "liked it not," but as they were facing "strange opposition," he would do whatever he had to for his patients.

The mother of the bride merely wiped her eyes, and whispered to Judy how glad she was to see that blessed day.

Doctor Seward brought Lucy to the improvised altar and helped her into the chair. Arthur clasped her hoof as the priest read the wedding liturgy, and readily produced a slim, unadorned gold band to fit around Lucy's wrist.

"Arthur," hissed Van Savage as the buck went to fit it in place.

Arthur started, dropping the band to the floor. Then with a chuckle, he picked it up and gently bent the soft metal around his bride's wrist.

"Let all gathered here witness that this male and female have been joined in the sight of God in holy matrimony," announced the priest. "You may seal the covenant with a kiss."

Since the bride would not be leaving the house, the guests showered her and her husband with rice as they symbolically went up to Lucy's room without looking to the right or the left. Lucy leaned heavily on Arthur, but she was in good spirits as they laid her down on her bed still in her wedding gown. Van Savage waited until the last to throw his rice, and oddly seemed to cast it more towards the window than the bridal bed.

"I think you're supposed to throw it on them," whispered Nick.

The professor cast him a very confident look. "It will serve the purpose," he said frankly. Then, with a nod to Doctor Seward, he bustled back downstairs.

"Where is he going?" asked Lucy, a little anxiously. Though one might have thought her attention would be wholly on her husband, she had come to expect much of the professor's presence and care, and would at times become agitated if he were gone.

"It isn't anything," promised Doctor Seward. "He has some small business to attend to. Come, let me get you a drink to help you rest. You mustn't exert yourself too much."

Lucy drank the preparation he gave her as placidly as the mildest nursing babe, and in a short while she slipped into peaceful rest clasping her lover's paw with both her hooves.

Professor Van Savage returned with the priest in tow. "I have seen to Mrs. Westenrut," he announced, "and the maids have been instructed that if she wake, they are to keep her occupied. We will not be disturbed for at least an hour, I think. Ah, you are preparing the instruments."

The horse rubbed his nose as the doctors did their work. "It's rather stuffy in here," he remarked nasally. "Mightn't a window be opened?"

Seward looked at Van Savage, who nodded. "Yes, a little fresh air will do no harm at this time, I think. Miss Judy, would you be so kind?"

"Harm?" asked the priest, thoroughly puzzled. "Who ever heard of fresh air doing harm at any time, I should like to know?"

Doctor Seward shook his head. "My old mentor is as good as any man alive for illnesses, but his methods on this one puzzle even me. You ought to have seen him a couple of weeks ago, tying these blossoms together in garlands and rubbing them all over the blinds and round the bed. As I recall, I said he looked for all the world as though he were working a charm to keep out an evil spirit."

"A charm?" asked the priest, clearly piqued.

Van Savage shot his friend a look before answering. "I swear on my life, I am no magician. There is a method and a science in all I do, but I cannot speak now."

Judy and Nick looked at one another, clearly baffled. Nick's gaze broke off to scan the flowers and the pungently scented curtains.

_Why does this seem so familiar?_ he wasn't just the flowers either; there was something familiar about Lucy too. It was like remembering, but without the memory.

The physicians worked swiftly and efficiently to exact the operation, but the transfer of blood seemed agonizingly long and painfully slow. Strange, too, for though the stallion grew visibly weaker as the minutes passed, Lucy only recovered a portion of her former color and fullness. It chilled Judy down to the marrow to look on it and think of the implications, and she even reluctantly admitted to herself that it would have been madness for her to try the same. Nick, though better at hiding his thoughts and feelings, seemed to grow calmer somehow.

Doctor Seward was not blind to their reactions. "Does the operation unsettle you?" he asked gently.

Judy shook her head. "No. I'm just surprised it's taking so much."

"Indeed," Van Savage agreed, watching everything with unwavering attention. "It's the strangest thing my eyes have seen, that what badly weakens so large a creature only partly restores such a smaller one."

The horse grew anxious. "What exactly ails her?" he asked.

Van Savage looked up at him, and for a moment his expression was dark. Then he softened, as though realizing the priest's worries. "It will do you no harm, I think," he said in reassurance. "I gave her blood myself, and I am not ill."

After a few more minutes, the doctors decided that the priest had given all that it was good for him to give. Seward quickly withdrew the needle and applied cloth and pressure to the puncture, whilst Van Savage ministered likewise to Lucy.

"We have done all that may be done," said he with much better humor than when they had begun. "Thank you, good sir, and may God bless you for your gift. Like our Lord, you have given of your life's blood that the dying may live, and that is a greater gift than you can know."

"It is not so great as the salvation of a soul," the priest countered, though he smiled graciously at the professor's praise.

Van Savage looked deeply thoughtful at this. "Perhaps…" was all he uttered, gazing as one looking far, far off.

Judy was so preoccupied in puzzling over the strange look in the wolf's eyes as he spoke that she managed not to see a shiver run through Nick's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's a pretty strange way to end a wedding for sure. What exactly is wrong with Lucy, and will Van Savage's unorthodox methods do the trick? Only time will tell.  
> The line Judy recalls, "Fair is foul and foul is fair," is from the play 'Macbeth' by William Shakespeare. In its original context, it speaks of everything being so turned about and mixed up that even good and evil are muddled.  
> I ended up doing some interesting research on this chapter, with some help from my girlfriend and from WANMWAD. Though there is a good deal of going into and out of Lucy's room, Judy's surprise at Van Savage going in there is period-accurate. I saw fit to pick WANMAD's brain about the matter, and he was kind enough to respond with the following two notes:  
> "You're right that in Victorian times it would be considered highly inappropriate for a man to enter a woman's bedchamber, particular if she was in her night dress. Victorians took a dim view of men and women even sharing living spaces, let alone a man entering a woman's bedroom; for members of the middle or upper classes, even engaged couples wouldn't live together until after getting married. In fact, even the poorer members of society (who the more well-to-do decried as immoral) only had about a 5% rate of cohabitation between an unmarried man and woman in London in the late 19th century."  
> When I raised the question of any appearance of impropriety, he added,  
> "To a certain extent, yes. The stethoscope was actually invented in 1816 by René Laennec because he was uncomfortable with the idea of putting his ear to a woman's chest to listen to her heartbeat, considering it extremely improper. Doctors of the 19th century commonly considered themselves proper gentlemen; the obstetrician Charles Delucena Meigs was quoted as saying, in the mid 1850s, that "Doctors are gentlemen and a gentleman's hands are clean." He didn't think hand washing was necessary for physicians, you see, and was insulted by the insinuation that doctors with dirty hands might be responsible for their patients getting infections. While by the end of the 19th century hand washing had largely caught on for doctors, the view of a doctor as a gentleman was still pretty common, particularly for older doctors, and anything involving a female patient that might have the slightest hint of impropriety was to be avoided. Public understanding of medicine was generally pretty crude, though, so as long as a doctor didn't look like he was assaulting his patient he'd probably be safe from mob justice."  
> So, to give the TLDR version: Judy was quite right to surmise that Lucy's condition was serious, as under no other circumstances would any respectable doctor go into her room as Van Savage did.  
> Wedding procedures were rather flexible in the 19th century, ranging all the way from lavish parties to secret last-minute ceremonies like the one in the Sherlock Holmes mystery A Scandal in Bohemia. There were norms and expectations, however, which I've presented as faithfully as I and the characters could manage. The wedding favors mentioned were small bouquets of white flowers tied with ribbon or lace, and were worn by both men and women. Those worn by men involved in a wedding were typically made by the bridesmaids, and favors for the bridesmaids were made by the bride herself. As noted, this would often include some small memento if the bride and bridesmaid went way back. The priest being a gray horse was based on a belief of the time that having such an animal draw the wedding coach would bring good luck. So would dropping the ring (or bracelet in this case), as it was believed that doing so would shake out any evil spirits hiding in the metal. The throwing of rice was a symbol of fertility descended from an ancient Roman custom of showering the happy couple with nuts (ouch!). Also accurate – and convenient to their ruse – is the fact that usually the bride's parents were the first to leave a wedding party.  
> On one other note, the idea of the priest being accompanied by a trained bird is a nod to Saint Francis – a man whose legendary way with animals could give Hiawatha a run for his wampum. In addition to being the most fitting saint to associate with anything Zootopia, I realized that Saint Francis' ever-present avian would be helpful to a horse who needed to turn pages. As it happens, doves and pigeons have been taught to do some surprisingly dexterous tasks, so flipping a page on command could probably be done.
> 
> On one final note, please check out my other stories, "Something Stinks" and "Sing Me to Sleep." Watch my profile also, as I'll hopefully be bringing my Christmas in Bunnyburrow material onto here next month.


	3. The Dream Becomes a Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Lucy's wedding and blood transfusion, all parties concerned settle down hoping for the best. Yet the darkness has not been beaten... only delayed.

It was not long before the whole wedding party disbanded. In rather a breach of custom – though a necessary one, of course – Doctor Seward took over the final duties of the best man from Quincy and paid the clergymammal, as he himself would not be leaving the party. Van Savage made ready to depart around the same time.

"You mustneeds pardon me, friend John," said he, "but I have earnest business and must be away for the night. You know our usual routine, and all I can add to it is that you must not disturb the rice."

The horse, who of course could not help overhearing, stared at him in befuddlement. "Sir, I am no physician, but I cannot for the life of me understand how rice on the floor has anything to do with this young bride's health."

"Yes, and neither can I," agreed Seward. "Forgive my saying it, but if I didn't know you better I should think you were going mad, Van Savage."

The professor took this in stride. "Yes, but you know the signs of madness as well as any, and you may be certain I am not mad. You also know that I don't tell lies, so trust that I am telling the truth about this matter: that grain must not be removed for any reason."

Doctor Seward shook his head at his mentor's insistence. "As you say, then, but sometime you really must explain to me the meaning of all this."

The answer came gravely – and, as the doctor would think it later, rather darkly. "Of that, old friend, you have my promise."

How it would one day chill the younger doctor to remember those words… and oh, how he would wish he had never been given his request.

Doctor Seward remained in the house all the rest of the day with little further incident except to remonstrate one of the maids who began to sweep up the rice. He spoke as kindly to her as might be, saying honestly that he no more knew what the cause was than she did but that he was under strict commands on the matter. She, accordingly, abandoned the task and made sure to relay his instructions to the others. Seeing that this was settled, the doctor spent much of the day in repose to prepare for the night's long vigil. Judy likewise meant to rest so she might sit up with Lucy, particularly as it would be less questionable for her to do so. However, she was much too enlivened with the excitement of the day and could not rest up. So it fell to Doctor Seward to take the first watch.

He took the duty with a good will, and as the maids went to bed he admonished them to each partake of a glass of wine. They did so gladly, and all drank to their mistress' long life and good health. Having seen to that little matter, Doctor Seward went to Lucy's room, where the doe was already dressed for bed and sleeping serenely. It was a bittersweet sight for the doctor, who had wished her to be his own bride, now to see her the wife of another man. Yet he solaced himself, for Lord Goredalming was a good man and would love her as well as – nay, much better than – he could have himself. It concerned the honor of his sex and his occupation to be, if not happy, then at least content for her and for his friend, her husband. Now the business at hand was to watch over her through the night, guarding against any sudden ill chance which might set back their efforts for her good.

He sat, therefore, and spent much time in reading; reading the notes brought to him from his aids at the asylum, and reading of diseases strange and rare. The former papers were fairly regular; one or two inmates were getting better, and some seemed to be declining, with most much as they had been for some time. A wolf named Romfield, a particular favorite of his, had been displaying signs of a growing religious mania, rambling now and again about 'the master' coming and bringing 'all good things.' No doubt the poor fellow thought himself some manner of prophet; a prophet of a god imagined in his own likeness and after his own wishes, as many mammals both mad and sane were known to dream up. He had on occasions past been given to violent fits, but of late had been mild and peaceable enough that, apart from his babbling, he seemed as civil as any mammal out walking the streets.

The research on diseases went much more slowly, alas. There were a few case studies like Lucy's, most of which he had gained from his old professor, who got them from Heaven only knew where. Unexplained loss of blood, often leading to death foreshadowed by delirious ravings of stalkers at night and red eyes. None of these had ever been properly understood, though, and the notes accompanying them indicated that the responses were generally superstitious, not scientific. None of it seemed to be of any worth.

Somewhere about eleven of the clock, he was pulled from these readings by a knock at the front door of the house. He paid it no mind at first other than to idly wonder why someone would come at so late an hour. Yet when the knocking persisted, he went to see himself, wondering why the maids had not answered.

To his surprise, the mammal at the door was a tapir named Roland; one of the aids from the asylum!

"Roland?" he asked, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Roland panted, sagging with his hands on his knees.

The attendant looked quite ill. "It's Romfield, sir. He's loose again, and this time he's attacked one of the attendants!"

"Attacked?" asked the doctor in surprise.

"Yes sir. When the attendant went to check on him, he asked for help with something in the room. Then he bit the poor chap on the wrist, and when others came to the yell they found him lapping at the blood. But when they rushed on him he forced his way through and ran out of the house!"

Doctor Seward's blood ran cold. It seemed, as he had once feared, that Romfield's mania had turned dangerous. To have him on the loose in such a state, at night too, was a horror to imagine.

"I'll be right there," he promised, hurrying to get his hat and coat. "Just let me make arrangements."

He went to fetch one of the maids, but instead found Mrs. Westenrut up and about. "Madame," he objected when he saw her. He knew he had to hide his fears. The thought of a lunatic out and about would undo her for certain. "The hour is late. Why are you up?"

"Oh, no fussing," she protested. "I've rested so much today that I can't sleep now. But why are you dressed to go out?"

The doctor saw here a chance to solve two problems at once. "Well, a matter has come to my attention which I must see to at once," he explained. "Nothing grave, but it requires my personal attention. I was going to check on Lucy before I went, but perhaps if you are sleepless you would see to her."

"Why of course," said the lady, much to his relief. "I might as well sit up with her as wander around the house for nothing."

Doctor Seward thanked her graciously and departed as swiftly as the situation allowed, confident that all would be well when he returned. Never in a hundred years could he have fancied how awry his hopes would go.

Mrs. Westenrut walked down the hall to her daughter's room, feeling more light and alive than she had in a long while. Her daughter was growing well again, and married to a fine gentleman. Now, whatever might become of her own self, she could rest assured that Lucy at least would be well cared for. Moreover, she had taken such steps as to ensure that when she did pass on, her property would go to her dear son-in-law to further ensure that all would be well.

"I do declare," she remarked aloud to herself, "I feel I could die happy though it were this very night."

Then she got a look at the room.

"Why, look at this mess," said she in dismay and disappointment. "Still strewn with rice from wall to wall. Oh, those careless maids. But there's a broom here, and they're all in bed. I'll sweep up myself, and have a good stern talk with them tomorrow."

Accordingly, she suited her actions to her words and removed the grains which Professor Van Savage had strictly ordered none should touch. Before this, however, she opened a window to let in a little air.

"What a shame for her to smother with all this garlic – and on her wedding night too."

* * *

It was some hours later when Lucy awoke to a cool breeze blowing on her face. Her mother lay asleep in the chair usually occupied by one of the doctors, gently snoring with her chin on her bosom. A twitch of worry went through the young doe when she saw the window open, for she recalled the many times the professor had said very strictly that it must always be closed and secured at night. She calmed, however. She was feeling so much better that surely an open window could do her no harm.

She knew not how long she lay there awake before a rustling in the bushes outside made her start. _What was that?_ She flicked her ears forward, staring at the moonlit window, but all she saw was an owl flitting about outside.

"I'd better close the window," she decided, putting her feet over the side of the bed. "I don't want the filthy thing coming-"

But before she had risen to her feet, a great gray shape came hurling through the opening, shattering the pane as it bashed through its lower edge. Lucy screamed as the shape tumbled on the floor and quickly resolved itself into a wolf dressed in torn clothes and staring with wild, bestial eyes. Mrs. Westenrut started awake and jumped to her feet, but all at once a great paleness came over her. She seemed seized by sudden weakness, and fell backwards into the chair stone dead.

"Mother!" cried Lucy, rushing to her stricken dam. But there was no time to do anything, for as if drawn by her movement the wolf fixed its eyes on her.

"Flowers," he hissed. "Filthy, filthy flowers. Master hates filthy flowers!"

The wolf lunged for Lucy with paws outstretched, and she fainted dead away.

When poor Lucy awoke, she found herself sprawled on her bed. She began to stir and at once froze with fright, for there was the wolf. He seemed no longer to pay her any mind, however. He was busy about the room, tearing down every petal and stem of the flowers which so festooned it and paying special mind to the roses and garlic. At intervals he would rush to the door and throw them into the passage by the armful.

Lucy wanted to scream, but it was as though an invisible hand held her by the throat with the strength of iron shackles. Why did the maids not come? Where was Doctor Seward? Why was her mother so horribly still and sprawled?

"Lucy? Lucy!" came Judy's voice up the passage. An instant latter the bunny herself hurtled through the door, looking about the room in wild confusion.

"Judy!" gasped Lucy.

There was no time for her to say more or for Judy to reply, for in a moment the wolf flung himself at this interloper. Judy threw herself to one side and the wolf blundered into the passage. Before she could slam the door, however, he was back in again. Thwarted in her first purpose, Judy leaped towards the bed and kicked off one of the posts. The wolf yelled in inarticulate rage when Judy, shouting for Doctor Seward to come and help, latched onto his face.

It was a brief struggle and a brave one, but all to no avail. With such strength as only a madbeast could boast, the wolf ripped her away along with two pawfuls of his own fur. The last thing Judy saw was a view of him and her terrified sister beyond him before the back of her head cracked against the wall and she knew no more.

Lucy watched in utter terror as the wolf gazed at helpless Judy for a long moment before returning to his strange affair. With the fight over he seemed to have put both his foe and the object of their quarrel completely from his mind. "Clean it all," he jabbered seemingly to no one. "It must be cleaned. The Master comes."

Presently, Lucy's wits returned. Whatever this wolf was doing in the room, he could not mean her any good. If something happened; if… if he killed her, others had to know what had happened.

Moving as silently as she could – though the wolf seemed by now utterly heedless of her presence – she tore a page out of the journal on her nightstand. With desperate speed, she began to write of everything on which she could lay her frightened mind: her mother, the wolf, and the flowers festooning the room. At long last she hastily rolled up the parchment and hid it in her bosom. The wolf wouldn't look there; not if he had an atom of manhood in him. By this time, however, the wolf seemed done, having even torn the curtains down with the rod and flung them out of the room. He bowed to the window as a courtier to a king, seemed to listen for a moment, and then threw himself back out into the shrubbery.

Lucy lay still, hardly daring to breathe or even move. Part of her ached to get out of there; to flee from the room and from the house which had become such a scene of madness and horror. Yet her limbs were paralyzed, and she could do nothing as the time slowly passed… as a mist crept into the room… as that mist gathered itself into a kind of pillar.

The last thing she noticed was how odd the gaslight looked through that pillar; more like two burning red lights than anything. It would not occur to her in that lifetime that the gaslight was not lit.

As oblivion overtook her, spreading like a blanket over her shattered nerves and wits, the mist thickened and blackened into a dark, massive figure. Glancing disdainfully at the dead woman in the chair, and at the door which held back those odious repellents, he paused to regard Judy's slumped form.

"No use," said he. "Not now. But you will serve me later."

With this ominous prophecy, he moved to the bed where Lucy Westenrut lay as one in a charmed sleep.

"This time," it snarled, "I will be certain."

* * *

Judy woke to a wet towel flicking her in the face. "Judy? Miss Judy, wake up!"

She stirred, trying to open her eyes. Her head was throbbing, and she felt as if her limbs were made of lead. "Whu…?"

"Easy, easy. Do you remember anything?"

It hurt just to think. "No," she murmured, finally opening her eyes to see the concerned physician's face. "What happened, and…?"

Then her sight focused enough to take in the room behind him. "What happened in here? Who tore apart-?" She stopped, seeing the bed empty. "Lucy! Where's Lucy?!"

"She's being treated downstairs, but you have to-"

For someone with such a crack on the head, her speed was incredible. She was halfway to the door before he could stop her. She didn't even know why she was in such a panic, but she had to find Lucy.

"Lucy!"

"Wait!" Seward overtook her and barred her way. "You're not well. They're doing all they can for her, but you must sit still."

She tried to make her way past him, but she was still dazed from the impact. "What happened?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," said Seward. "I can't begin to sort it out, but there was some kind of break-in. Lucy's had a terrible relapse, and your mother is…" He stopped, reluctant to upset her.

"What?" demanded Judy. "What happened to Mother?"

His ears dropped, and his face told all that was needful. "I'm terribly sorry, but… your mother died. We believe it was instantaneous, from a bad fright."

Judy felt as if she'd been knocked on the head again. _No…_ she thought, trying to think through the fog. _No, it can't be real. It can't._

Yet she was not one given to denial. Idealism, yes; even fanciful idealism at times, but not denial. Like a drowning swimmer, she locked onto the one thing she could. "What about Lucy?"

Seward picked her up. "They're doing all they can, but you're in no condition to-"

A painful yelp burst out from him as she gripped his arm with frantic strength. "Let me help," she insisted.

Doctor Seward reluctantly took her down to the kitchen, where a scene of utter madness was in progress.

Three of the maids, looking rather groggy and dazed, were rushing about heating water and cloths or running and fetching all manner of things. They had filled a large tub with hot water as they would for a bath, and the third maid was busy bustling about someone in the tub at that very moment. She was bent over, frantically rubbing the bather's legs and body while Van Savage worked feverishly at the arms of the same.

Yet it was the mammal slumped in the tub, fully clothed in a night dress, who captured their attention at once: Lucy. She was so sickly, and so limp, that it was nearly impossible to recognize her at all. She was nearly as white as salt under her hair, even to her very lips. Her eyes were closed, and she scarcely seemed to be breathing. Her throat was bare, and there were two wounds on her neck.

"Lucy!" Judy cried.

Van Savage looked up. "Oh, thank God and all of Heaven!" he cried. "Judy, you must see to her chest. We must chafe her or she will die!"

Somewhat recovered and now spurred at the sight of her adopted sister, Judy ran forward and leaped into the tub dress and all.

"Joh, take this girl's place before her arms give out!" ordered Van Savage. "You, girl, find someone to give blood; anyone her size or more! Shout in the street. She must have blood or death within the hour!"

Judy was hard-put not to lose her mind. The whole thing was madness; utter madness. "What about yesterday?" she cried.

"Gone," was Van Savage's answer. "All gone! Oh, God forgive me, fool that I am!"

"Keep chafing!" cried Doctor Seward, for Judy had stopped at hearing the wolf's lament. "What little blood she's got left in her needs all the help it can get."

Van Savage nodded his agreement, then waved to one of the maids supplying water and cloths. "You," he commanded, signing her to move back to Lucy, "put two fingers to her neck; right there by the wounds. We must know if she has a pulse; any pulse at all."

The maid came compliantly, feeling anxiously as she had been instructed. "What am I feeling for?" she asked.

"Movement," was the answer. "Like the gulping of a throat when it drinks water, only smaller."

She checked, and said she thought she felt a tiny movement… but it was getting fainter and fainter.

"We are fighting death for certain," said Seward unnecessarily.

Van Savage shook his head, looking as sick with his exertions as Lucy did with whatever was so mercilessly preying on her life. "If only death were all that assailed us. Why, _why?_ And this sweet maiden of all creatures."

Judy stared at him in confusion. He spoke like someone who knew something terrible… or was just plain out of his mind.

"Keep going!" ordered Seward, for in her distraction Judy had abated. The look on his face made it clear he did not understand his mentor's words in the slightest, but there was no time to waste on idle questions.

At long last, Lucy's face flickered with movement and she managed, just barely, to open her eyes.

"It's working!" cried Judy.

"Here, here. Hold her head steady," Seward ordered one of the maids.

Lucy struggled for breath, and seemed to be trying to say something, but whatever it was would never be uttered in the mortal world. By the time the missing maid returned with a tiger in a constable's uniform, Lucy Westenrut had been dead not less than five full minutes.

Both of the doctors looked beyond comfort, and Judy wept without heed to anything.

"We did all we could," said Seward. "At least… at least now she is at rest."

Van Savage shook his head, slumping with exhaustion. "It's my fault," he rasped. "My… my fault."

Doctor Seward patted him on the back. "Now, professor, we all did our utmost to-"

"You don't _understand!_ " cried Van Savage, whirling and striking away the comforting hand. Then, as if he had the burden of Catlas on his shoulders, he crumpled to his knees and buried his face in his paws.

Judy followed suit, burying her face in Nick's chest. He quietly put his arms around her still-soggy form.

"Ladies," ventured Doctor Seward to one of the maids, "will you take her someplace where she can dry and… and grieve in peace?" He looked at that moment as if he himself would like to go off and weep, but masculinity and the sight of others forbade it and there was work in hand. "I will have the others clean the body up and put her in something dry, and Van Savage and I will handle the legalities." This last he said with a glance at the tiger officer, who stood looking on the whole matter in great confusion.

No one saw Van Savage slip a small rolled-up paper into his coat, much less thought to ask him anything of it.

It was a note which had fallen from Lucy's bosom when they took her from her room; her last mortal words, and the secret of her death.

* * *

Nick came sometime later, wondering why Judy had not come to the office, and found all in mourning and turmoil. In was no surprise that all who knew of the catastrophe mourned the loss of the two women, save for the officer who merely took a statement from the two physicians. There was some dispute betwixt them at the first, but the consensus at the end of it was this: that a mammal, still at large, had broken into the house at night and frightened poor Mrs. Westenrut to death. As for Lucy, the shock of the attack and her mother's demise had caused her to have a fatal relapse of her illness, so that she too perished. The officer noted that Van Savage seemed rather firm on having this explanation accepted, but it was asserted by all who had been present that he was away hours before the incident and could not have had any part in what followed. For this reason, the officer accepted their statement and left, but advised that he would likely be back for more information.

"It is well no one mentioned that you asked her to be your wife," the professor said to the doctor after this interview. "If such were in the record, it might be taken as motive for some mischief on your part."

"But she was sick long before that," Seward objected.

"I know that, and you know," Van Savage agreed, motioning him to come in close, "but there is ill afoot here, old friend, and we must not have any of us taken on a misguided charge."

The doctor put his ears back, regarding his friend in confusion. "You speak as if this were more than illness."

Van Savage looked grave. "I think it might be, but I cannot say just now. Too much is going on to pursue my theories now, but if I am right then more evidence will present itself soon. For now, we must settle all privately."

Their private conference was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come," commanded Van Savage.

Nick walked in, his arm around a red-eyed Judy. "I think I'd better get her out of here," he offered. "She's… well, not doing well."

"Of course," Van Savage agreed. He seemed to hesitate, as if to say more, and then spoke again. "Friend John and I have examined her head, and I think she will get well."

Judy sniffed loudly. "It's all my fault," she sobbed.

Seward shook his head. "My dear, you of everyone did the most. You will not remember for some time, and may never recall, but I am sure you were struck down trying to save her life. It was a brave thing, and no mammal could have done more. I am at fault for leaving."

Van Savage shook his head. "It was cunningly done," he said, though no one heard him. Then he turned to Judy and spoke more clearly. "My dear Miss Judy, may I come see you later? There are things I must ask which I think you can help, to bring the killer to justice."

At this Judy nodded. "Of course, but…"

"Go now," said Van Savage. "Friend Nicholas, if you will take her to a hotel, I shall repay you for her lodgings tomorrow."

"No need," offered Doctor Seward. "My asylum has an infirmary well away from the patients. Take her there and tell them I sent you. It's the least I can do after leaving last night. If anyone asks, tell them it is because of Romfield. They'll know what it means."

* * *

Nick took Judy to the address given him, and the doctor's advice proved good. He did not go home or to work that day, but remained at Judy's side or within calling of her the whole day. Toward evening, Van Savage came to see them as promised.

"Miss Judy," he said with his tail tucked under and his manner as forlorn as ever a wolf's was, "I am grieved at your loss, and grieved to see you suffer. I must beg forgiveness for leaving last night. I thought all well, and did not imagine trouble would come back so soon."

Judy just sighed, having gone into a kind of shock over the deaths of her remaining family.

"Friend Nicholas," added the professor, "You have lost good friends this day, I know, and you remain true to Judy. You are as good a man as ever I have met.

"I come to ask a favor of you both; you in particular, friend Nicholas, as it concerns you more directly."

Both of them regarded him curiously. "What kind of favor?" asked Nick.

Van Savage's ears stood very erect, and his face took on the expression of one who has committed himself to dive into deep water. "Miss Judy has told me of your business trip to Romania, and of severe impact it had on you. She made mention of a sealed journal of said venture. Do you have it still?"

Nick nodded, looking a little sick at the mention of the unfortunate book. "I do," said he. "I mean, she does."

"Alright. I should like to see the chronicle, if I may."

This was a strange request, to be sure. "If you really want to," said Nick, "but why?"

Van Savage averted his gaze. "There is much going on, and I feel I must not become idle at such a time as this. To see the journal would put my knowledge at your disposal, if perhaps I may be of some service to you. It will serve me, meantime, by helping me look forward."

Judy was given to curiosity and somewhat jealous that a stranger should come out ahead of her to explore the mystery of Nick's trip when it had first been entrusted to her. On the other paw, she had little stomach for mysteries or jealousy now. She had lost too much in a single day and swiftly decided that she didn't want any more dark tales. At least Van Savage could see the matter objectively, and if he wanted a riddle he could take this one and welcome. "Alright," she agreed at last. "I'll bring it tomorrow, but…" here she reached out and took the professor's paw to show how earnest she was. "Don't show it to anyone else; _anyone."_

He smiled warmly and patted her paw with an almost paternal air. "You may put absolute trust in me," he vowed. "I call God to witness that I shall mention neither the journal nor its words to any beast without your consent; not even friend John."

Nick coughed. "Uh, yeah, I'd especially appreciate him not knowing about it. Nothing against the guy, but he might think I'm crazy."

Van Savage looked at him quite seriously. "Friend Nicholas, I have known madbeasts. Let me assure you that if you are mad, you are the soberest lunatic I have ever met."

"Oh." Nick wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Uh, by the way, why so curious about my trip? Or do you just want to take your mind off of Lucy?"

The professor's tone and visage gave no token whether his next words were in jest or earnest. "I have no wish to take my mind off of Lucy," said he, "but please ask me no questions now. When the time is right, I shall tell everything."

Nick could hardly be persuaded to leave Judy all that day, and when at last night bade him leave he finally voiced an idea which had been taking shape.

"Carrots, I've been thinking we should try to do something to help tomorrow."

She looked up at him wearily. "Help how?" she asked.

"Well, I know you're pretty rattled by all this, but I think Arthur's gotta be pretty broken up too. There's gotta be a ton of stuff to sort out since he and Lucy were married and she was the last Westenrut." He chose his reasoning carefully, knowing that Judy was always looking for some way to be of use to someone. "Why don't we go over there tomorrow? I might be able to help with some of the papers, and you… well, I think you and Arthur both need some time."

Judy could almost have smiled, in a very sad way. Nick hadn't been as close to Lucy or Mrs. Westenrut as she had. He couldn't have had he tried his level best. Yet he understood well enough that she would gain by having someone who had been close to Lucy, to comfort and draw comfort at one go. It was a noble thing of him.

"Alright," she said at last.

After Nick left, she dressed herself for bed and lay down, hoping that sleep would come soon. Yet she lay awake for some time, puzzling a question which she had tried all day not to think of.

 _Lucy had the life of four males in her,_ he thought, _and three of them were strong and hardy. So where did all of that blood go?_

She would have to ask Van Savage about it the next day.

* * *

 

 

* * *

_It should be pretty obvious now – even to those who haven't read the original version, that this is a takeoff of Dracula. Accordingly, I will backtrack and explain one or two details about vampiric superstitions in due course._

_The note about it being a slight breach of custom for Seward to take over Quincy's duties in paying the priest is period-accurate, as ordinarily the best man would indeed be the last to leave and would take the job of paying for the wedding service. This would probably not raise any eyebrows, but it bears acknowledging as an anomaly anyway. Then again, as Van Savage notes, they are under no common circumstances._

_Van Savage's insistence on leaving the rice on the floor is based on an old superstition that vampires are obsessed with counting (no, believe it or not that did not start as a Sesame Street pun). Several methods of tripping up the undead were rooted in this belief, such as scattering seeds across entryways (as seen here), leaving a broom by such apertures, and even burying coffins wrapped in fish nets for any budding vampire to try to untangle. This trick has even appeared in the X-Files, when untied shoelaces marked a vampire's handiwork, and Agent Mulder later cheated the culprit of a kill by scattering a pack of sunflower seeds in his path. Wild roses were another time-honored deterrent, but garlic - interestingly enough - was apparently not widely considered a guard against vampires until Stoker made it one. It was, however, reputed by some sources to have magical properties, which is probably where he got the idea._

_The professor's_ _rationale defending his methods is a deliberate nod to some logic utilized by C.S. Lewis, most famously in_ _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ _. The professor in that story reasons that as Lucy is clearly not crazy and not known for lying, they should assume she is telling the truth about Narnia. This is admittedly an anachronism, as C.S. Lewis would have been unheard of at the time of_ _ Dracula _ _. However, since the laws of logic don't change and the chain of logic was based on a much older text, someone as shrewd as Van Savage could think of it well before C.S. Lewis was even born._

_Romfield is a merger of two characters from the original novel: Renfield, a lunatic who veritably worshipped the vampire, and Berseker (a play on berserker), a wolf whom Dracula used to break into Lucy's room much as described in this chapter. I chose the name as a play on Romulus, the mythic founder of Rome, of whom it was said in their legends that he was lost or abandoned as a baby and nursed by a she-wolf. Interestingly,_ _Dracula _ _has been named as the first work to portray any enmity or one-upmanship between vampires and wolves or werewolves. Indeed, in older superstitions it was said that a slain werewolf was likely to come back as a vampire, which makes some sense in the version I am writing. I shall address the reason for this later, but it is enough to say that apparently Dracula was the first vampire to regard wolves of any kind as his subordinates. This is perhaps why, in the novel, wolves hate and fear him even though they obey his every command (Berseker, for example, growled at him when they first met)._

_The remarks about religious mania are drawn in part from Doctor Seward's reflections in the novel, prior to his realization that the object of Renfield's ravings is alas all too real. I also included a nod to the philosopher Voltaire, who once remarked that, "In the beginning God created man in His own image, and man has been trying to repay the favor ever since." While Voltaire was very cynical of religion and God, his comment is often cited by religious people as well as a caution against trying to reinvent divinity._

_One point which bears confessing is that I somewhat downgraded Judy's fighting skills in the fight with Romfield. Since this version of Judy would not have trained to be a police officer (a point I am strongly considering changing for the full-length version, as I may have mentioned before), she would not have anything close to the strength or skills of her modern version – who, let's face it, was rather outlandishly OP for her size anyway. On a side note, the fight scene is all-new; it would not have fit in the What If version since in that one Judy spent that night elsewhere._

_And now we have seen our first real glimpse of Dracula. You may have noticed that in this version I had him use the form of an owl rather than a bat. Actually this is appropriate, since owls were identified with death and vampires long before bats were. For centuries owl hoots were considered ill omens or even demonic, and the birds themselves were associated with tombs and unclean places. In a world where most of their prey would be actual citizens, this would doubtless be even more so. Today there is much less stigma concerning owls, for which I am glad because I do think they are amazing birds. However, there are still some notions of owl-like monsters such as the Owl Man occasionally reported in Mawnan, England (I should probably mention that, as a cryptozoology enthusiast, I am rather skeptical of that one)._

_About the only other thing of note is that some credit Stoker with inventing the idea of polymorphic vampires, though I have seen this contradicted elsewhere. At any rate, he seems to have been the first one to have one turn into a bat, likely inspired by the relatively recent discovery of bats which actually fed on blood._


	4. The Face of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the deaths of Lucy and Mrs. Westenrut, our heroes struggle to pick up the pieces and cope with the disaster. What can be made, though, of the unanswered questions? Worse, what can they do with the terrible answers? Meanwhile, a new face reappears; one inextricably linked to these sordid goings-on.

As though Providence had mercifully ordained it so to ease the shock, sorting out the affairs after the deaths of the Westenruts ran smoothly. Miss Westenrut's lawyer learned of the death and came at once, but as his schedule was rather full Professor Van Savage had persuaded him to accept some help with the papers and other property matters. Papers pertaining to funeral arrangements were easily found, and one of the maids was entrusted to deliver them to the suitable parties. The lawyer, knowing that the late lady had named Arthur her beneficiary, had deferred to the stag on all matters. Arthur, still in shock, had been only too happy to hand all over to the professor. Van Savage, in turn, gladly accepted Nick's offer to help with the legal work.

"I'm afraid I rather overstated my case to the good lawyer," he confided in the fox. His ears hung low, his usually bold shoulders now bowed and showed their age, and his eyes looked like the eyes of one who has lost much sleep. "My expertise is much more in matters of medicine and of the peculiar than of lands, deeds, and paperwork."

Nick pricked his ears at this reference to 'the peculiar.' "What do you mean by 'peculiar'?" he asked.

The professor waved a paw dismissively, but Nick could see that he was ill at ease, as one who has said more than he meant to say. "It's a fancy of my youth, really; nothing to interest you. Cases of… oh, mammals disappearing from one place and arriving in another without knowing how they got there, for example, or of artifacts found in strata outside their acknowledged time."

The effort to cover up the former with the latter caught Nick's attention. "Is that why you wanted to look at my journal?"

Looking rather abashed, the professor nodded. "One reason, yes. As I said, I would like to put my mind at your service, if I may. Your case is of interest to me, if you will pardon, and my years of research may be of value to you. Better to aid a fellow creature, if haply one can, than to grieve in futility."

On the one paw, Nick didn't exactly like the idea of being a curiosity to someone he barely knew. Then again, if Van Savage wanted to help, why say no? He could, at least, appreciate mammals who felt the need to do so. "You'll get along fine with Judy," he remarked. Then, growing a little more serious, he added, "Just let me know if you think I might be…"

Van Savage met his gaze with that peculiar arresting look of his. "Friend Nicholas, as I said before, I am quite persuaded that you are not mad."

Somehow the way he said it was both comforting and terrifying – and not just because the dreams Nick had been having, if not madness themselves, seemed enough to drive someone insane if rooted in truth.

"How do you know?" he asked. "You haven't looked at my journal yet."

Van Savage shook his head. "One needs only to listen to you and talk with you to see that you are not mad – or if you are mad, then I think I must be as well, so we might as well both be mad together."

Nick scrunched down one eyebrow. "That really doesn't make much sense," he admitted.

The wolf smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was rather all too plainly a mask worn by a mammal perhaps on the edge of madness himself, and knew all too well how near the verge he stood. "I have read many things that do not make sense, and yet which after much thought I can only accept to be true. Shakespaw spoke the truth: there are stranger things in Heaven and Earth than we can think of."

Nick didn't know what to make of it, really, but a half-hour later he noticed that his chair had moved unnoticed at least a foot away from Van Savage.

* * *

In another room, Judy was doing her best to comfort Arthur. It was a strange thing that such a small creature as her should be trying to console one so much larger, but it did seem to be having some effect. Males, curiously, will often be more vulnerable before females than in the company of their own sex, and Lord Goredalming – who might have forced himself to look strong elsewhere – was weeping as only the bereaved can do.

Judy, dismissing usual propriety, had seated herself on the arm of the high-backed chair in which her brother-in-law sat, and had a hold on one of his arms to remind him of her presence. Her own chest felt hollow as she watched him grieve, but strangely it helped her to know that at least she could be some use; some help.

"She talked about you all the time, you know," said Arthur at one point when his sobs had abated a little.

Wiping away her tears, Judy managed to look up. "She talked about you a lot too," she said, half-choking. "Even before you were engaged."

Arthur bit his lip. "I just can't believe she's gone."

Judy nodded. She couldn't believe it herself; not only her natural family, but now all of her adopted family as well were dead. Yet though her loss was arguably greater, she would think afterward – for one rarely puts their feelings together all in one go – that she was not so bereaved as Arthur. She had had Lucy and her mother nearly her whole childhood. Arthur had not had Lucy for such a long time, or as close though she had been his wife, and now… now she was lost to him until he too went back to the dust. This, and the recent death of his father as well, could hardly not be expected to break a man, however, strong and noble.

"Do you think she's missing us now?" asked Arthur, shaking slightly. "Up with the angels?"

It wasn't an easy question; that was certain. Judy had been taught that the joy was so complete in Heaven that all earthly loss and sorrow were as nothing, but now she wasn't sure what to think. She was certain, at least, that Lucy must remember Arthur; how could a woman forget her husband? Yet how could she remember and not miss him? For that matter, even if the answer were clear, how could _she_ put that before _him?_

"I'm sure someone's comforting her," she offered weakly. Then she too dissolved in sorrow.

* * *

It was some time before the two parties met again. Lord Goredalming thanked the sirs for their time and pains, and said that if it was all the same he would be going back to his estate.

"Of course," Van Savage affirmed, speaking for the whole of the group. "You have suffered much, Lord Goredalming, and you must have rest. Go home, and I shall lock up when all leave."

Wearily, he nodded his thanks and departed.

Now, with just Nick and the professor, Judy found herself at a stand. The question of how Lucy had lost so much blood – and that without drenching the sheets in scarlet – had not been forgotten by her, and she ached to know if somehow he might shed some light on the matter. Yet she suspected the wolf asked for Nick's journal for some reason related to Lucy's death, and she didn't want to trouble Nick more.

 _I can't bring this up around him,_ she thought to herself, wracking her brain for an excuse to get the two males apart.

At last she decided on a tack which, though it might be argued as manipulation, would get her the audience she desired. "Professor," she interrupted, "are you alright?"

Van Savage looked up, and for perhaps the first time since she had known him he really did look his age. Old lines had deepened, and new ones seemed to have appeared overnight. Behind his spectacles, his eyes had a strange, far-away look in them like one who had not slept in ages. The sight worried her so much that she forgot momentarily about her strange question.

"I am… well enough," he admitted, though everyone in the room knew it for a lie.

Judy glanced over to Nick, who nodded in understanding and assent. With a decisive air, Judy touched the professor's forearm.

"Come with me," she urged.

After looking up at her face, Van Savage ran a paw back over his brow. "I was getting cross-eyed anyway," he admitted, gathering some books and papers together into a bag. "Friend Nicholas, by your permission?"

Nick regarded him for a moment and then nodded his assent.

Van Savage moved to a door leading into a small antechamber, bowed slightly to admit Judy, and closed the door only most of the way after following her through. Perhaps it was her own feminine influence that did it, but when he turned to her he looked even worse than before. Judy had meant to use this occasion to draw from him some answer to Lucy's fate, but she felt her resolve breaking away. It would be sheer brutality to press him for information at this time.

She had underestimated him, for he broached the matter himself.

"You have questions, don't you?" he asked.

Her ears dropped. She wanted to say it wasn't that important, but how could she say that about the cause of her sister's death?

"You may ask," he pressed. "Believe me, you do me more good now by giving me reason to press the fight than you can think."

She suspected he was trying to feign courage, but something in his manner compelled her to ask anyway. "Where did the blood go?"

This question seemed to trouble Van Savage, but he mustered himself and answered. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask, but I expected that you would." He folded his paws and sat. "There are animals in this world which feed on blood. Certain kinds of bat, for instance."

Judy flinched at this claim, remembering a pair of wounds she had seen on Lucy's throat. Then she shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. How could a bat drain Lucy?" She had met a very large bat once, called a flying fox, but he was a strict frugivore and claimed with pride that no kind of bat on earth grew larger than his. Besides, the bats which fed on blood were strictly tropical. They wouldn't survive any appreciable time in Zootopia's cold, damp climate outside of the enclosed Rainforest District.

"More than one might," Van Savage replied. Then, hastily, he added, "I must confess this is incomplete; speculation at this point. There is much to be learned, which is why I study her papers. If she became prey to such a determined and unnatural assault, she may yield a clue to other victims."

The thought of other mammals dying like Lucy sent a shock of fear through Judy. In other does that might have paralyzed, but in her it tempered. "Why don't you let me take a look at her diaries?" she suggested. "I knew her. Maybe I'll spot something you wouldn't." It occurred to her only after she said this that it would also take the matter off his paws for a while, and maybe give him some time to recover.

Van Savage brightened visibly at this idea and nodded gladly. "Ah! Yes, that would do excellently. And it will leave me free to look through the newspapers for similar-"

She lifted a paw. "Professor, stop. Just… stop." She paused, not sure for a moment just what to say next. "I know you cared about Lucy. Any good doctor would. But let someone else step in for a while. Deal?"

"You are hurting as well," he protested, "and you are young. You should be-"

"I won't be able to enjoy myself if other mammals are in danger," she insisted. "You've been running yourself ragged. Let me help."

He sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have told you," he admitted, but with a smile. "Very well. You read, and I shall… I shall rest a while."

Judy nodded, satisfied that she had made her case. On her way out of the room, however, she paused with her paw on the handle and then shut the door.

"I guess it was a waste bringing Nick's journal now that this has come up."

Van Savage's ears twitched thoughtfully. "No, if you have it then let me see it. Best that I try something. I am doctor, not hunter or constable, and if you will take some of my worries on yourself then I must give service in kind."

Judy smiled just a little. "I'll hand it off before we leave," she promised.

* * *

It wasn't long after Judy's talk with the professor that Nick opted to head out. He still had his day job to consider, and it wouldn't have felt right to charge Arthur for the help they were providing. Word from Mr. Clawkins had come in about another client seeking to have some business arranged. Judy had some quiet words with the professor, who said that he had rested enough and did not like the look of Nick. "This new ill has renewed his former shock," he intoned softly. "It is not good for the reynard to be alone."

Despite the wolf's concerns, the fox seemed as collected as one could ask after two so strange deaths. The day passed without incident, and the one after as well apart from the double funeral for the Westenruts. They were both interred in a vault beneath the city off the catacombs, or what some called the Nocturnal District, beside the remains of Mr. Westenrut and among his ancestors. Through his sorrow Nick felt a dreadful unease during the whole burial; a sense of something unspeakably wrong. Whatever it was, it seemed to him that Van Savage was struck with the same malady, but he did not voice this insight; not even to Judy, stricken as she was with sorrow.

About a week thereafter, however, he would encounter a shock he could not hide from her, and one that would haunt them both as long as they lived. They had met en route to work and decided to visit an eatery on their way to the firm. Yet while they were crossing a park to a cluster of several such businesses, Judy jumped as Nick's paw suddenly clenched on her arm.

"Ow!" she cried, jerking away as his claws pierced fabric and flesh, drawing blood. She tried at once to pry him loose, but when she looked up at him, she almost forgot the pain.

Nick was staring across the park with the wide, glassy gaze of one who had (as they say) seen a ghost. Judy followed his gaze, but it took her a moment to spot the object of his transfixed fascination. It was a tall feline figure, thoroughly unremarkable in his dress, looking attentively at a cluster of female antelope. He looked like a black jaguar or leopard, but surely if so then he must have been a dock worker or something manual from his childhood. She surmised this because of the extraordinary strength of his build; more like a tiger or even a lion than a jaguar or leopard.

 _A black tiger!_ The thought shot through her mind like a flash of lightning, and she whipped her gaze up to Nick. "Nick," she whispered, not sure why she whispered, "is that…?"

"It's him," he gasped in petrified horror. "It's him, but… no, it's not possible."

"Why?" pressed Judy. "What's not possi-"

" _Don't let him see us!"_ hissed the fox, suddenly catching hold of her and darting across the square as quickly as he could go. She tried to bring him to a halt, but half-heartedly out of confusion and the fear that digging in her heels would only get them scraped raw on the cobblestones. As soon as they gained the corner of a building, Nick yanked her out of sight and peered back around the corner like a wanted criminal.

Nursing her scratched arm for a moment, Judy then laid a paw on his arm. "Nick, what's going on with you? Who was that tiger?"

Nick seemed thoroughly intent on staring out into the square, where the elusive feline was now strolling in the opposite direction. "It _is_ him," he panted to himself, "but… that's not possible. He's grown _young."_

Judy caught Nick by the front of his shirt and, with anxious resolve, yanked him around to face her. "Nick," she pressed, "who is it?"

His face was so pale that his very fur seemed to turn white. He seemed to be struggling to form his answer, as if his mouth and his brain were somehow disconnected like one who had had a stroke. When at last he did manage to answer, it was only one word and bore little meaning to Judy.

_"Dracula."_

The impact of the strange sighting was immediate and grim. Even ten minutes after the tiger left his view, Nick had forsaken all plans of dining publicly and nearly made up his mind to grab his work and go home. Mr. Clawkins had been hard put, together with Judy, to calm him down, and at last sent a page boy out to fetch some food for the pair from a nearby restaurant.

"Nick, what is going on?" Judy pressed once they were left to themselves. "I've never seen you like this; not even back at the abbey after your nightmares."

He shook his head. His ears were back, and he looked as though if the chair allowed it he would have his tail between his legs. "I wish to goodness I would," he answered. "Feels like I've woken up _into_ a nightmare."

She put the food in front of him. "Who was that tiger anyway? You mentioned a Dracula before, I think."

At that Nick nodded. "Yeah, yeah, let's see. He was the guy I was supposed to meet on my trip to…"

Then he seemed to freeze, staring at the wall with an expression of absolute horror.

"What is it?" asked Judy, putting her ears back.

His lower jaw trembled as with a violent shiver. " _I_ did it," he whispered hoarsely. "I sold him the house. I brought that monster _here!_ "

"Monster?" asked Judy. "What kind of…?"

Then she stopped. It was so obvious she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

This 'Dracula,' whoever he was, was the reason Nick couldn't remember most of his business trip – which meant her only chance of getting any answers was to get the journal she had left with Professor Van Savage.

Alas, Nick knew her all too well. "Carrots, don't you dare go looking for answers on this one."

"Now Nick-!"

"I mean it, Judy," he insisted, reverting to her real name in his earnestness. He looked her dead in the face, and his eyes had the look of someone who had been in a war; a really bad one. "This guy is Evil, with a capital E. I don't remember a lot about him, but I remember that. You need to stay away from him."

"What about him staying away from you?" she pressed. "If you got him here, he has to know you're here too."

That threw things in a different light. Contending with the dreams of eyes, teeth, and blood had been one thing, and bad enough at that, but the prospect of facing it all again while awake was unthinkable. Besides, if Dracula came after him there'd be no stopping Judy from getting involved; bars and chains wouldn't keep her out. With her in danger too...

Finally he nodded. "Alright. Let's get my journal back from Van Savage."

* * *

This proved to be harder than they thought.

"Are you sure you haven't heard from him?" Judy asked Doctor Seward three days later.

Seward nodded. "I've been busy with my work, but I left a letter at the inn where he went and so far he hasn't answered."

Nick frowned, putting his ears back. "That's pretty fishy, actually. Why would he just up and disappear on us with my journal?"

"What was in the journal?"

Nick shrugged, hiding his unease. "Just a… a record of a business trip," he offered weakly. The last thing he wanted was to explain something as freaky as that half-remembered ordeal to someone who specialized in lunatics.

Judy clasped her paws. "Listen," she urged, "we need to get hold of Van Savage. When was the last time you saw him?"

"By the sound of it, only a few hours after you did," was the answer. "He came by to ask me some questions about Romfield, but I had to break from our talk to go attend to one of the patients. When I came back he was gone, and an article had been cut from the newspaper."

"The newspaper?" asked Judy.

Seward nodded. "Yes. I happened to look into it later on, but it was something about children wandering off at night and injuring themselves, blaming it on 'The Bloofer Lady.'"

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Sounds more like a game for grown-ups," he admitted.

Judy kicked him out of the doctor's view.

"Ow. How were they blaming it on a beautiful lady?"

Doctor Seward shrugged. "I must confess I don't pay much mind to children's fancies, but… yes, there were cases of youngsters wandering off in the evenings. Those who weren't back by dark would be found in the morning, tired and very weak, saying they'd been led away by a 'Bloofer Lady.' Undoubtedly the first one thought it up and others followed the first one's idea. Now that it's in the news I'm sure it will only spread."

Nick and Judy looked at one another. It _did_ sound like an odd thing for Van Savage to chase off after, especially at such a time.

Was it possible that Van Savage was really off to bedlam?

* * *

For a full week nothing happened, save that Judy grew worried and Nick grew jumpy. He hardly ever walked anywhere, always taking cabs and always torn between watching anxiously and hiding furtively. Judy had never seen him like this, and she hated it with every fiber of her being. She also hated that Nick's fears of whatever Dracula might do yet or had done already were starting to effect her as well. She found herself going out less and looking over her shoulder when she did venture from home.

Nick's story seeped out of him by bits and pieces, jumbled and half-remembered. He spoke of long, late-night talks, of staying in a castle with only the old black tiger and three… three somethings. He always shuddered at the mention of them and called them devils or witches. Then he remembered running; running around trying door after door and finding them locked or leading to empty rooms with no way out. It all sounded like nightmares, and he went so far as to say that it only seemed half-real even to him.

"I'm starting to wonder what's real and what's not myself," Judy admitted when this unfortunate difficulty arose.

It was not too long after that a knock came at the office door, and their rather large cheetah employer poked his head in. "Uh, hey. Someone just dropped off a telegram for you two. Said it was urgent."

Judy was nearer the door and jumped up to take the letter from his paw, slitting it open with a letter knife. She gasped when she saw what it said.

"What is it?" both predators asked.

She hastily folded it shut. "Um, sir," she asked the cheetah, "Would you mind excusing us for _just_ a moment?"

Mr. Clawkins nodded, looking thoroughly puzzled. "Uh, alright. Are you two in some kind of…?" Here he looked from one to the other.

"It's fine," Judy assured him. "Just… about my mother's death, and my sister." It was the surest thing she could think of to deter prying.

True to her hopes, the cheetah's expression fell. "Oh. Well, alright then. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"We will," Judy promised, and as soon as the door was shut she dashed over to Nick, nearly colliding with him as he got out of his seat.

"What's the message?" he asked anxiously.

Judy handed him the telegram.

' _Miss Judy and Friend Nicholas.'_

"Van Savage!" Nick exclaimed. His fur puffed out as he read on. _'_ _Please come to Westenrut house tonight at six. Be prepared for cold and damp. Rest well this afternoon, sleep if possible. Bring garlic or wild roses. Van Savage.'_

They regarded the message with total befuddlement. "Be prepared for cold and damp?" asked Judy. "What's he talking about? That house has to be the driest and warmest on that whole side of the city."

Nick scratched his head too. "Planning a night hike?" he ventured. "At this point I'm not sure if anything would surprise me coming from him." Taking the telegram and staring at it, he added, "The question is, do we go or not?"

"We have to," Judy pointed out, though it felt uncomfortably like giving in to blackmail. "He's got your journal, remember?"

That was true, and though Nick wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened, it was becoming clear he had no choice but to uncover the truth. Dracula's presence in Zootopa, and the strange mystery of his replenished youth, left no room for staying oblivious. Besides, though he hated to think ill of Van Savage after the professor did so much for Lucy, he wasn't sure he trusted any paws but his own and Judy's with that book anymore.

"I guess we'd better try to get some sleep, then," he assented.

* * *

Nick and Judy were not the only ones to have been summoned. When they arrived at the Westenrut house, they found a large coach waiting outside and the cab horse in one of the quieter sitting rooms warming by a fire. Still more significant was the company within, for around the table in the dining room sat not only Van Savage, as they had expected, but also Quincy and Doctor Seward.

"Professor," called Nick, trying not to betray his state of agitation.

"Ah, good," Van Savage greeted. "We are nearly all here, and…" he paused to check his watch, "nearly all on time."

Judy glanced around. "Are we expecting Arthur?" she asked.

The professor nodded. "Yes, Lord Goredalming received a summons as you did. I would not fault him for choosing not to come here, but my hotel lodgings would not accommodate us all. Ah, I think I hear him now."

One of the maids, to Judy's surprise, saw Arthur in. The buck looked as if he had aged a decade since the last they saw of him, and regarded Van Savage distrustfully as he sat.

"Thank you for coming, your lordship," greeted Van Savage, rising to bow slightly.

Arthur seated himself and laid his paws on the table. "You said you had urgent business to discuss," he said, clearly wishing to get down to brass tacks with no delay.

"And so I do," answered Van Savage, folding his paws and looking around. He seemed grave, but resolute. "My friends, and you most of all Lord Goredalming, I have learned of a… a duty, which sits before us for the sake of dear Lucy."

Nick frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, putting back his ears. "She's dead, right? What can we do for her now?"

Van Savage's voice was low, and trembled with what they all took for righteous indignation – but which was inside just as much terror as anything else.

"So she is, and we must avenge her." He paused as if to gauge their responses before continuing. "I tell you all now that her death was no mere sickness; no twist of fate, but a succession of deliberate and vile acts, each more merciless than the last. I suspected it before, but dared not speak of my theories until I had proof, lest the murderer escape from justice. Yet I tell you now that the one who did it walks abroad still, and every night poor Lucy's body is subject to a desecration fouler than even the cannibals of distant jungles could conjure."

Arthur sprang to his feet. "What?!" he demanded, fists clenched and eyes ablaze. "Who would do this? _Where is he?!"_

Judy quickly seized on a crucial detail and looked hard at Van Savage. "How do you know all this?" she asked.

He gave her an approving look. "Well asked, Madam Judy. I know because I have seen it. As I say, I had suspicions, bits of which are known to some of you. Last night I went to the church yard to see for certain. John went with me, and though I swore him to secrecy then I promise that after tonight he may tell all to as many of you as will hear him. What we discovered proved my worst thoughts, though I wish in God's name it had not. Now I must take into my confidence as many of you as are willing, and we must go again to the church yard this night to face what we shall find there."

It surprised no one that Arthur was the first to speak. "I'll go to the pit of Hell if I have to to stop the beast doing it," he said with full feeling.

Van Savage's eyes flashed. "Be careful, Lord Goredalming. I can't say for certain that such a thing will not be demanded of you before this matter is over."

"Well Ah'll go too," put in Quincy. "Ah loved her mahself, and Ah'd be a sorry excuse of a man for askin' what Ah did of her and then turnin' away now."

Van Savage turned to Doctor Seward. "John," he said, "I know you are shaken already by what you have seen, but will you come this night also, as you are my friend?"

The doctor said nothing, but nodded gravely.

"I'll go too," Judy volunteered.

Van Savage was surprised. "Miss Judy," he objected, "with all due respect, I don't think you should-"

"I knew Lucy better than anyone here," she insisted, drawing her brows low. "If this concerns her, then I'm in."

Silence reigned for a moment, and then Van Savage nodded slowly. "I should not be surprised, I suppose," he acknowledged. "And moreover, this concerns not only her but also your friend."

All eyes turned to Nick, who blinked in confusion. "Uh, what now?"

"Mister Wilde, I promised not to speak of how this is so, but some knowledge you gave me provided a vital link in the chain of deductions which drew me to that cemetery last night. If you come with us, you will do much good before this time tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, to quote another famous literary hero (who would, no doubt, have some fascinating discourse with Van Savage if they ever met), "The game is afoot!"  
> I must thank WANMWAD again for his historical input. I alluded to the Nocturnal District in this chapter, and envision it – for the purposes of Victorian Zootopia – as being not unlike the famous/infamous catacombs under certain old and notable cities, especially Paris, France. Such underground networks have been used for burials since the days of ancient Rome, and their use here turned out to be quite period-fitting. Around the time Dracula is set, the developing grasp of how diseases spread sparked an interest in distancing the living and the dead. Between this and overcrowded graveyards and cemeteries, even previously buried corpses were sometimes dug up and moved into catacombs. Additionally, above-ground burial vaults such as the one used in Dracula were common in England due in part to difficulties of digging graves. I could go on about some other fun tidbits of old burial methods (suddenly it seems disturbing how much I could say on the matter), but I shall save further details of the Westenruts' family vault for the fifth and final chapter of this test run. One difficulty which occurred to me was that, the Nocturnal District being a district unto itself and a habitat of choice for some mammals, it might be somewhat thornier to use it as a repository for graves. However, I suspect that in the world of Zootopia many nocturnal animals would have simply adapted their existence to above-ground life. This would likely have been spurred in part by problems with underground sewers and the like, so areas of the underground catacombs would probably be available – pardon the pun – dirt cheap for grave sites.  
> One other detail that makes the catacombs an appropriate setting model to use for this story is that many superstitions have been – and to some extent still are – attached to them. There are claims that the tunnels under Paris have a gateway to Hell somewhere in their depths. I don't believe a word of that myself, but such ill associations would certainly make Van Savage uneasy about burying a vampire victim there. I suspect the Nocturnal District would also have high crime rates, including grave robbing. People stealing valuables to sell or bodies for research were quite notorious around that time, and provided inspiration for another tale of horror: Frankestein, or The Modern Prometheus. While such assaults on the final rest were hated and feared enough in their own right, Van Savage's account of the evils befalling Lucy's remains is a pretty grim one even for that.  
> One other detail which bears explaining is the use of the phrase "Bloofer Lady." In the lingo of the time, "Bloofer" meant "Beautiful," so basically the children were saying they'd been off playing with a beautiful woman - which in those days would probably have been a lot safer and less creepy than it is now. This actually echoes a good many superstitions around the world. Probably the best-known is La Llorona, a ghost of Mexican folklore notorious for stealing away children who are never seen again. Fortunately this Bloofer Lady lets her captives go, but what does she want with them, and who or what is she?  
> 


	5. The Death of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Van Savage's lead, the heroes go to investigate Lucy's grave and the evils being done there. What they encounter... well, you'll just have to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay everyone. I usually post things either before or after work, but my car died and I had to take rides from my mom yesterday, which meant being late for work and having to leave immediately from there. Since I have no internet at home (kind of fortunate; if I did I might never get anything written), I couldn't post – and today didn't work out much better until now.  
> Anyway, here it is: The last chapter of Night Plague… for now.

 

They rode in the carriage to a restaurant, went inside, and left again as soon as the cabby was gone. Van Savage glanced around cautiously and then led the party several blocks through winding alleyways. At his bidding, they broke up their group and pretended to be strolling idly every time an officer passed on his beat.

"Why are we hiding from the police?" asked Judy in a whisper. "If someone's robbing Lucy's grave, shouldn't we-?"

Van Savage raised a paw to stop her. "You will understand all by daybreak."

Judy was getting less and less sure of the professor's sanity, and glanced over at Doctor Seward. The doctor seemed to sense her worries, and by his wide eyes she could tell that he was not only doubtful, but afraid. He nodded, though, in answer to her unspoken question.

"This is not a matter for the police," he said quietly. "Come on."

They made their way in this grim and doubtful manner to the place where they had entered the catacombs on that awful and dismal day. Van Savage and Doctor Seward brought out lanterns and lucifers, and in a moment had the former casting their flickers on the walls of the passage.

"I know we all know the way," whispered Van Savage, "but stick close together. We mustn't get separated tonight, especially on our errand. Do you all understand?"

Silence reigned among them as they nodded, though Arthur answered grimly, "If you're worried about the beast desecrating my Lucy," he hissed, drawing his cloak open, "just point me to the devil and stand aside if you sight him."

The gleam of the lanterns glinted on a pistol.

"Okay, is it too late to get off this train?" asked Nick warily.

Van Savage shook his head at the gun. "That will do us little good," said he, "but it is too late now. There are things at work I cannot voice, but you must see them with your own eyes. Lord Goredalming, you must promise me you will not use that weapon unless I give you leave."

The stag scowled. "I will not spare the life of-"

"You fool!" cried Van Savage, his voice breaking into a shout. Then he quieted at once as the echos died away. "Lord Goredalming, by your love for Miss Lucy you must promise me you will not shoot at anyone, or I will not go one step further and you will not know this mystery."

Amid the standoff, none save Judy saw Quincy slip a paw to the side of his own long coat. She remembered then that the buck, who had been some years in the Amarecan west, always carried a rabbit-sized revolver out of long habit.

Oblivious to the doe's realization, Goredalming and Van Savage stared one another down. Van Savage held it bravely despite his lordship's greater height and youth, and at last Goredalming let his cloak fall shut. "So be it," he scowled, "but if I see anybeast lay a finger on Lucy's body, I can no longer answer for my actions."

Van Savage sighed. "That's the least of my worries," he uttered, motioning them all to follow once again.

Judy had never liked caves, and found herself keeping uncommonly close to Nick. He, for his part, was shaking.

"This is like something out of my nightmares," he whispered. "The ones about the castle."

Van Savage nodded knowingly, then pricked his ears suddenly as if he had heard a sound. Warily he looked over his shoulder at the fox. "Do you have some premonition of this, Friend Wilde?"

Nick shook his head. "That's not the word I'd use."

Van Savage regarded him thoughtfully. "Tell me at once of any change or suspicion," he advised.

The fox's tail crept between his legs. "I suspect this was a really bad idea," he admitted.

It felt like they walked half the night before they reached the passage leading to the cavern which held the Westenruts' vault. Like a good many underground cemeteries, it was one great chamber with many side caves, either natural or produced by adding stone here or cutting it away there. The cave was blocked off by a great heavy door, with no opening by which so much as a pygmy shrew might pass. Yet Van Savage, passing his lantern to Lord Goredalming, reached into his pocket and drew out a key

"Where did you get that?" asked Nick as the wolf unlocked the gate.

"We are in desperate circumstances," said Van Savage resolutely. "I had to borrow the grounds keeper's key and make a copy in order to do what must be done."

"I still don't get why we're not going through the police about this," admitted Judy, entering with the rest.

Nick nodded. "That would make it easier."

Arthur took a different view. "I say all the better. Whoever did this, prison is too good for them."

Doctor Seward patted his fellow ungulate on the shoulder. "Friend, you don't know what you're saying." His eyes darted around as though the tombstones hid watching sentries. "The evil in-"

"John," warned Van Savage, stopping him. "Please, let all see for themselves."

The oryx fell silent, and his mentor led them all into the cavern. It was a solemn procession, subdued by a feeling like nothing any of them had every imagined. A cold, vacuous feeling sensation them; a cold that was more than want of warmth. The walls in this cemetery were lined with luminous moss, but the whole of the place seemed laden with darkness beyond darkness, as if something were consuming such light as there was. Even Van Savage did not speak when they reached the Westenrut crypt; a side passage marked at its entrance by fine stonework resembling the front of an above-ground mausoleum. A thick door made to shut in the fumes of decay covered the opening completely, held by a lock.

As they looked on, Van Savage reached into his pocket, paused, and looked down at the receptacle, uttering a mild oath. "A hole!" he cried. "Blast- and now of all times too. Well, this will have to suffice." So saying, he drew something out and threw it on the ground before the tomb in dismay.

"What is that?" asked Judy.

"Seeds," answered the professor. "Now, do just as I tell you. We must all hide ourselves, particularly so we are not seen from the entrance."

None understood these strange orders save for Doctor Seward, who looked as though he either might die of fear where he stood or wished he would. He took his place behind one of several statues of angels, placed around the cavern as if to stand a solemn and eternal vigil over the dead. The others all waited in back of similar statues or behind great stone stalagmites. Nick, who was shaking like a leaf, hid with Quincy, and Judy took her place with them as well.

When they had placed themselves, Judy called across the way to Van Savage, voicing the question which was on all their minds. "Now what?"

"We wait," came the wolf's simple answer as he opened his lantern. Raising it to his lips, he snuffed out the light with a quiet puff. Then he drew his cloak tightly around himself as Quincy imitated his deed.

So they huddled in their overcoats – and Judy in her shawl – and watched the Westenrut mausoleum not far off in the dim luminescence of the cave. Time crept. Water dripped. Their eyes slowly adjusted until even Judy, whose eyes were least suited to darkness, could see pretty well what went on around the cave. Now and then one or another of them dozed, though Quincy had brought some small flasks of coffee by which they might refresh themselves. Sometimes they would glance at the surrounding tombs, half-fancying that some ghost might come out in anger at their presence in this hallowed ground. Most of the time, though, their eyes were fixed on the tomb of the Westenruts, where so recently they had placed the bodies of their dear friend and her mother.

Of course to distribute the coffee he had with him, Quincy had to dart from one hiding place to another now and again. Every time he went to Van Savage, he brought with him questions from the others – for Van Savage sternly commanded that no one raise their voices. Apart from queries about the hour, which crept by in merciless slowness, the wolf's answers were all alike: "Wait and see."

At last, only a couple of hours before dawn, something happened. Somewhere they heard a weak cry, such as a child might give in sleep.

"What was that?" asked Judy, tensing at the sudden breach of silence.

"Our enemy," answered Van Savage's voice. "Silence now! Silence!"

Suddenly, a strange white figure seemed to appear from the direction of the doorway. There was no sound or sign of the passageway into the cemetery opening; the figure wasn't there, and then it was. They all caught their breaths as it moved silently among the markers towards the Westenrut crypt. Judy glanced toward Arthur and saw that Van Savage had joined him in his hiding place. His lordship had brought out his weapon, but the professor had a paw firmly clamped on his shoulder to dissuade him.

Looking back at the figure, Judy squinted to see what she could make out. It was very thin and pale, whatever it was, and had a tapered muzzle. She felt as if she knew it from somewhere, but where she could not imagine.

The figure reached the Westenrut tomb and stopped, looking at the ground. Dropping upon its knees, it began to claw and pick at the cavern floor as if gathering something up. While it was thus engaged, they all looked on intently. Suddenly, a horrible truth struck Judy at the same instant that disaster broke upon them.

"Lucy!" cried Arthur, breaking from his and the professor's hiding place.

"No!" cried the professor, throwing himself after Arthur, but it was too late. They were betrayed now, and the figure turned to face them.

Judy stood transfixed. It _was_ Lucy, but how strangely and terribly changed she was! Her pure beauty had been turned to voluptuousness, and her kind eyes now gleamed a cold and hungry red. Her lips parted, showing two tiny pointed teeth like daggers as a thin rivulet of some dark liquid trickled out. Judy didn't know what to think, but she had an overwhelming assurance that this thing – whatever it was and however it looked like her lost sister – was evil.

"Arthur," Lucy crooned as Van Savage, who had caught the buck, now wrestled with all his strength to keep him pinned to the ground. Objects clattered from his pockets as he fought his captive.

Arthur stared like one enchanted, his struggles briefly halting.

"Arthur, my dear. My husband. Come embrace me." Her voice was as smooth as oil, but there was something in it that was definitely not of Lucy.

The red deer's struggles began anew, spurring the others to run to the professor's aid in holding his lordship down. Van Savage looked up, and his eyes flashed as if he would throw himself on the creature and tear it like his ancestors of old. "Stay back, you monster," he snarled, fighting to subdue the struggling buck. "He is not yours, and you have no right to him!"

"What do you mean?!" cried Arthur, fighting to rise. "It's Lucy! It's Lucy!"

"It's _not_ Lucy!" cried Van Savage.

The thing – whatever it was – caught sight of Judy, who was under no restraint. "Judy, my dear sister," it called. "Sweet Judy, pledged to be my friend forever."

Judy felt her mind begin to slow down, as if she were struggling through a thick morass. She let go of Arthur's leg, stood up, and began to walk toward the doe.

"Judy!" cried Nick. Terror broke his restraint, spurring him into motion again. He threw himself at Judy, pulling her to the ground.

It could only be a matter of time before the tension broke, and their hot-blooded Amarecan rabbit was the one to do it. Falling off the thrashing red deer, he thrust a paw into his coat and came out with the revolver. Two loud explosions tore the air as he fired.

The Lucy figure jerked. Arthur screamed and went still under Van Savage and Seward..

Yet nothing else happened. Lucy – or the thing that looked like Lucy – remained standing. Her eyes burned brighter, and her mouth opened in an angry snarl.

Judy shook herself as if awakening from a daze. She knew now, without any question, that the thing before her was evil – and that it wasn't Lucy. Puling herself free of Nick's grasp, she cast her eyes around for a weapon. A bright gleam next to Van Savage caught her eye.

"Judy!" cried Nick, trying to catch her again.

Arthur lifted his head. "What's happening?"

"It didn't hurt it!" exclaimed Quincy.

Judy slipped from Nick's grasping paws, darted to Van Savage, and snatched up the object; a letter knife, but as good as a large dagger to her.

"No!" cried the wolf.

The cry was to no avail. Whipping around and cutting an arc past Nick, Judy threw herself at the figure and buried the knife in its leg. The Lucy-thing threw back its head and screamed a horrible unearthly wail, swinging and arm and striking Judy hard. She flew several yards as the thing yanked the knife from itself and threw it away like hot iron. Then it turned, and before their shocked eyes, slid into the crack by the vault door as though it were no more than a wisp of smoke.

All of them stared in amazement after the strange apparition.

"What in tarnation?" asked Quincy.

Van Savage, breathing raggedly, rose to his paws.

"Friend Judy," he gasped, "lie still a moment, and we will attend you. I must seal it in before it stalks more this night."

None of them understood his purpose, but they watched as he drew a vial from his pouch and with it daubed all around the door.

"Putty, mixed with a mash of garlic," he explained.

Doctor Seward rose and went to Judy, who was unhurt save for bruises and a torn dress.

"What was the maddest thing I ever saw," he told her breathlessly. "How could you charge it like that?"

"Uncommon valor," answered Van Savage, recovering the knife from where it had been cast. "Well that I brought this. It is silver; one thing which can harm the undead."

"Undead?" asked Nick. The word cast a mysterious horror over him, and he would have thought he had no room for further dread.

Lord Goredalming, meantime, sat up looking quite dazed. "What was all that?" he asked. "That creature… it looked like Lucy."

"We must not talk here," was the wolf's answer. "Come. We have seen what we must and done all that now can be done. Let us go to Friend John's and there take our counsel."

* * *

They found a small cub – a dark-furred jaguar – outside the cemetery door. This, Van Savage asserted, was the source of the strange cry they had heard. "We leave him where officer will find," said he. "He is a victim of the Bloofer Lady, and will be, I think, her last one, but he will live."

True to the professor's decision, no more explanation was given of the matter until they had gone back to Doctor Seward's house and had some glasses of wine to steady all their nerves. Then Van Savage began his account.

"You all have some knowledge, I think, of the principle of demonic possession. If accounts are to be believed, the forces of Hell have it in their power to, at times, enter into mortal bodies and manipulate them as a hand may control a glove or a puppet. The demon thus gains power to work in the physical realm, and with it all the advantages of flesh, as the ability to eat and drink. Also, the body thus captured is endowed with strange powers. Supernatural strength, resistance to harm, and other besides. But these powers are not enjoyed by those so held, as they are more often than not helpless slaves until they are exorcised. We have nothing less than the holy scriptures as proof.

"It is so with living bodies which are possessed, but it has been said that if a dead body is so indwelt, the powers become stranger and more terrible still." He looked around the room with great severity. "I believe we have encountered just such a body this night."

A terrible chill went through the room as all of them realized some piece or other of preceding events which had foreshadowed this revelation. Moreover, they all remembered Van Savage's remarks some hours before about Lucy being desecrated. It was indeed worse than any of them could have dreamed.

"How did this happen?" demanded Arthur. "You seem to know much more than you tell, professor!"

Van Savage sighed. "I read much of such things when I was young – as I intimated once to friend Nicholas – but it has been many years. At first I thought, like John, that this was some disease of the flesh. When I sat up, though, I awoke to see a mist coming into the room; coalescing into a _thing_. It moved to attack me as well, but fled when I called for salvation. I knew then it was of Hell. I thought to tell all, but who would heed me? So I used such defenses as I might, hidden under a mummery of medical remedies. May God judge me if I have erred."

This seemed to placate Arthur, and he settled by a little.

"Well now we're all crazy together," Nick summed up, "so what do you know about these things?"

Van Savage took a sip of his wine to steady himself. "These creatures – the undead, if you will – are known by many names, but vampire will suffice as well as any. Because their bodies are dead they cannot consume food and make life from it. Instead, they must steal the life from the living by means of the blood."

"The child," whispered Judy, horrified.

"Yes, the child. That child and the others like him are now safe, but I must go on. I do not think that Miss Lucy was possessed of her own doing, as a witch might be. Rather, she had this forced on her by necromancy which, to my knowledge, is new or at least newly discovered. This is the worst of it, for there is another in Zootopia at this very hour, with powers far worse than the one we faced."

Judy and Nick both sat bolt upright. "The Count!" cried Nick. "Count Dracula!"

"The one that was stealing Lucy's blood!" exclaimed Judy at the exact same instant.

Van Savage blinked at the twin outbursts, then nodded calmly. "We have two detectives among us, I see. You are both right. Nicholas Wilde, your former client Count Dracula is the villain, and if I am right there are not less than three others at his home in Transylvania, as I gather from your experience there. They are all of them _nosferatu,_ as we call them in my country, and this Dracula is author of Lucy's death and desecration."

Arthur jumped to his feet. "How can we stop him?!" he demanded. "What can we do to save Lucy?!"

"Sit down," said the professor with an air of quiet command. "Yes, the monster is still at large, and doubtless works more evil still. I must go home for a day or two and research this matter thoroughly, but first we must dispatch the fiend that has taken Lucy's body. Before I tell you what must be done, I must warn you that it will be terrible – worst of all for you, I think, Lord Goredalming. I will bear the worst of it if I must, but any who undertake this will tread a dark and bloody path."

No one moved to leave, and it was Judy who spoke next. "You talked about exorcism," she reasoned. "How do we exorcise her?"

Van Savage sighed heavily. "If the old tales speak truly, a stake must be driven through the heart to paralyze the undead while it lies in its coffin by day. Once this is done, the true exorcism can be done. We must… we must cut off the head and fill the mouth with garlic."

Arthur turned pale at the thought of doing this to his beloved wife, and Van Savage nodded sympathetically.

"I know it is a dreadful thing to ask, but can anything be worse than what that fiend is doing with her body? I think truly that her soul is with the angels now, and naught we can do will harm her. Yet with or without harm to herself, would she not have us do this to rid the world of evil done from behind her so sweet face?"

The bereaved husband nodded. "She would," he said shakily. "She would, but…" Then he steeled himself and turned his back. "Do whatever you have to, please, but I ask one thing in return."

"Say on."

He turned back to face them all, and his eyes burned with sorrow and anger. "Let me do the same to this Dracula," he ordered. "If we can catch Lucy, then we can catch him. Let me do to him as you must do to her, and all other vengeance that can be had."

Van Savage looked serious. "Seeking revenge is the devil's foothold," he warned, lifting an index finger. "Let us do all with integrity." Then, seeing the stricken look on the stag's face, he added, "Just the same, I think that you have the best claim as she was your wife. I cannot promise that any one of us will not end up as she, and the others be compelled to exorcise that one too… but if ever I have the chance, I shall not contest your right of retribution. You, however, must promise to follow my instructions in every particular, however small. We are in the realm of spirits and devils here, and I make no pretense to be wiser than they. Still, I am wiser than you in these matters. Heed me and we may all live. We are all doomed otherwise."

"I swear it," said Arthur at once.

"I'll throw in my hat," added Quincy.

"We're in too," Judy agreed, drawing a startled look from Nick.

Van Savage also looked surprised. "Miss Judy," he objected, "I know you and Lucy were close, but-"

"It's not about that," she argued, her eyes glinting with determination. "I'm not sitting by while something like that runs loose. Besides, after what Dracula did to Lucy, and to Nick…"

Van Savage pushed his glasses up on his snout. "I think friend Nicholas should seek to settle his own grievances."

"And _I,_ " added Nick, "don't think this is a good idea, Carrots. If Dracula can do this much damage, I'd like to keep you as far away from him as possible. Maybe a nice trip to New Yak about now?"

She turned her eyes on him. "If you're in, I'm in."

He swallowed reluctantly and nodded. "I guess we're in," he assented.

All eyes turned to Doctor Seward, who simply nodded. "I'm not going to back out of this either," he agreed. "I was the first you trusted, Professor, and I'll be the last one to leave."

Van Savage nodded his satisfaction. "Very well. You have proved yourself of fine courage, and I commend it. Then we are all of us pledged to this quest, as it were; to hunt down and destroy this monster and his devilish kinfolk from off the face of the earth. Tomorrow afternoon, such of us as have courage for it shall meet in the cemetery at noon and hide until all have left. We shall exorcise Lucy with none to hear, and meet again in no more than three days' time."

"What should we do in those three days?" asked Quincy.

The wolf's answer was gravity itself. "Set our affairs in order. This is a dark business from which some of us – perhaps all – may not come back living."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it: the end... or the beginning. My apologies for cutting it off before the, uh... cutting off, but I didn't want to keep you all waiting longer.  
> The reference to lucifers was a shot in the dark (no pun intended). For some time, the uncapitalized version was used to refer not to the Prince of Darkness - as appropriate as that is for this chapter - but to matches. The word "lucifer" derives from the Latin "lux" for light, so this is not as strange as it might seem.  
> I realize that I accounted for most of what one would need to know about the catacombs/Nocturnal District in the previous chapter, but I suspect it would be much less inhabited than the underground semi-city I created for, say, Something Stinks (had a lot of fun with Judy's drive through it in chapter one of that story). As with Something Stinks, it would probably be a combination of natural and artificial tunnels and chambers. The cemetery in which Lucy was buried would probably be a natural cavern, onto which (or out of which) vaults might be dug either in existing protrusions or solid rock, depending on what was available.  
> Those familiar with the original Dracula will notice I skipped having Van Savage take nearly as active a role in repelling the Lucy vampire, and that no mention is made of a cross or sacred bread. I will save my full thoughts on the matter for the full version, I think (or answering comments if anyone asks directly), but I did the former because in this version Van Savage is not so much a fearless vampire hunter as the only one who has half an idea what's going on. The latter is because the idea of crosses or consecrated bread having any significance (save as a means of execution and a food item, respectively) stems from the Bible, and if the Bible is at all to be believed then using sacred objects for combat generally doesn't end well (see 1 Samuel 4, when the sons of the high priest tried to use the Ark of the Covenant as a good luck charm). Silver has long been considered a useful weapon against all manner of supernatural entities, as has iron. I learned from WANMWAD that both solid silver and silver-plated objects were common enough when Dracula was written, and it seemed likely that the professor would be well-to-do enough to have such a letter knife, and would be less wary of using that and other secular deterrents to risking a blasphemous use of something sacred (I plead guilty to projecting some of my background and views onto the good professor).  
> So that's it for this version. Thanks to everyone who read, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please feel free to fave, review, and check out my other works. Now that Halloween's over I'll be continuing with my long-on-hold Christmas fic, "Fox Dens and Rabbit Trails: Santa Clawed."  
> Happy Reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I described Judy's arrival in a manner borrowed from WANMWAD's material, though it's pretty intuitive that in older days when horse-drawn carriages were the norm, many equines of the Zooniverse would make their living pulling people around. Essentially the arrangement would be the same, save that the horse and driver would be one and the pulling mechanism would be designed for a biped. The reference to a Gatling gun is also period accurate, as Gatlings were one of the earliest forms of machine gun.  
> The name of Saint Ninian's Convent is, of course, borrowed from Saint Ninian's Church in the Redwall books. Convents and churches were widely associated with medical care and other charitable endeavors for much of history, ultimately leading to today's Catholic hospitals and the like. Sister Aria is based on Constance from Redwall and named for the voice actress behind Constance Kendall of the Adventures in Odyssey cartoons and radio dramas.  
> "Brain fever" is an old term for ill-defined mental illness. My classes in psychology never got very far into disease, but I think Nick's symptoms would be diagnosed today as dementia, paranoia, and/or some form of PTSD. The twisted limbs spoken of were historically, and in some circles still are, associated with demonic affliction as Sister Aria implied. The reference to King Nebuchadnezzar (of Babylon) echoes a point in the Hebrew book of Daniel. While the Jews were dominated by the Babylonian empire, the king had a terrible nightmare which he couldn't remember on awakening but was convinced must have some important meaning. He was so desperate to know the meaning that when his wise men and magicians couldn't tell him what he had dreamed he ordered that they all be executed. Fortunately, God showed Daniel what the king had dreamed and what it meant, saving quite a few lives.  
> I stretched a point with Nick's religious positions, since I suspect Nick would be an agnostic or atheist. The Reform Church I put him in for this story was a denomination which eschewed the elaborate pageantry and iconography of Catholic practices (statues, crucifixes all over the place, rosaries, etcetera), seeing them as idolatrous. This makes more sense if one knows that the bronze snake Moses raised on a pole, to which Jesus even likened Himself at one point, was later worshiped by the people and ultimately destroyed for that reason.  
> The "Evil Eye" alluded to is rooted in an old superstitious belief that some people have the power to curse someone just by looking at them. I've read in some sources that this belief is tied into such modern expressions as "dirty look" or "if looks could kill," and while I'm not sure of the truth of that I dare say it makes as much sense as anything.  
> The concern over Lucy's nocturnal escapades is period-accurate. Not only would a late stroll in a nightgown raise chances of a chill, which could be dangerous to someone sickly, but in those days a woman would no sooner go out in her night dress than one today would in her underwear. Even being seen barefoot was something to be avoided for form's sake.  
> Judy's reservations are another bit of character stretching to fit the time period. While in the movie she does strike me as being a lot more conservative than Nick (as seen in her reaction to Mystic Springs), I suspect that our 21st Century Judy would have few qualms about traveling with Nick unmarried. If she were born and raised in the 19th century she would probably be a bit more reserved.  
> One thing that came up when people read this on Cimar's project: the black tiger is not a black jaguar or leopard; he is, in fact, a black tiger. Though melanism – the trait which produces so-called black panthers – is not known to occur in tigers, there have been numerous reports of tigers with the black-on-dark-brown fur known in melanistic specimens of other species. Since black tigers fall under the umbrella of cryptozoology – an old fascination of mine – and hang just on the edge of the known, it seemed appropriate to choose one for a figure of such ominous and supernatural aspect as this one.


End file.
